LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

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UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 




EDITH DEAN. 



THE SIN 

OF 

EDITH DEAN 






BY 



l/ 



BELLA FRENCH SWISHER 

i, 



" The heart that has truly loved never forgets, 
But as truly loves on to the close, 
As the sunflower turns on her god, when he sets, 
The same look that she turned when he rose." 

— Moork. 

" . . . I built my house upon another's ground, 
Mocked with a heart just caught at the rebound — 
A cankered thing tha t looked so firm and sound. ' ' 

— MlTLOCK. 

" To err is human; to forgive, divine." — Popb. 




t^** 



NEW YORK 

JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 

1890 






Copyright 1890, 

BY 

BELLA FRENCH SWISHER. 



TO 
MBS. CHABLOTTE PBATT, 

OF 

Baraboo, Wisconsin, 

whose deeds of Christian charity and willing renunciation have 

won my undying reverence and esteem, and whose 

gentle hand, many years ago, guided me over rocks 

and through brambles, during the darkest 

hour of my whole life, this volume 

is lovingly dedicated, by 

THE AUTHOR. 



THE 

SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 



PART FIRST. 



CHAPTER I. 

The mellow sunlight of a sweet May morn 
Gleamed on the snowy blossoms of the thorn, 
Kissed the uprising, dew-wet blades of corn 
And lay, a golden glory, where the breeze 
Was tossing growing grainhelds " into seas." 

Though just above the hill-top shone the sun, 
'Die farmer's day of toil was well begun. 

Slow-stepping oxen, patient and sad-e^yed, 
Moved in obedience at their master's side, 
While going forth to drag a heavy plow, 
Preparing land for later crops ; and now, 
Released from farm-yards, here and there, a cow 
Went lowing down a path or lane, to say 
To her companions, she was on the way 
And soon would join them at the meadow brook; 
Bat each and all, without a backward look, 
Though pausing, now and then, to nip the grass, 
Which offered tempting morsels hard to pass 



6 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Yet touch not; trudged along, no thought in 

mind 
Of an} 7 mate that lowing came behind. 

The smooth-phi med pigeons circled in the air, 
With full intent to gain an ample share 
Of yellow grain, which little Marguerite 
Was scattering around for fowls to eat. 

A farm-yard, barn and stable, were in view ; 
And at the' bars, a horse was looking through, 
Mouth watering, while asking more supplies 
By the mute language of his wistful eyes. 
Beyond, a' garden, half-neglected, grew — 
A tangled mass, which little order knew, 
Though here and there were flowers wet with 

dew ; 
And quite a colony of busy bees 
Were making music in the lilac trees. 

A rambling country-house, cool, plain and neat 
Looked out upon a dull, suburban street, 
Or rather road, where weeds were thick and 

green, 
And even stumps and bushes could be seen. 
But to the west a thriving cit} 7 lay — 
Not large, yet had its railroads, hydrants, gas 
And all the other comforts of that day. 

Twice every week, a stage coach had to pass 
The house just mentioned, while upon its way 
'Twixt Summerville and Clyde, a weary road 
Of fifty miles. (A hundred, with a load ; 
At least, so thought the travelers, before 
The tiresome ride of ten long hours was o'er.) 

Upon the porch, beneath a wild sweet-brier, 
Which, having gained the roof, was climbing 

higher, 
Two women stood : — one young and very fair, 
A wealth of beauty in her dark brown hair, 
Which lay in massive rings upon her brow, 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 7 

From thence caught back by pins, well to allow 
A free sweep of the queenly neck, just seen 
Above a snowy fichu's filmy sheen, 
Worn with a traveling dress of gray cashmere. 
Long lashes drooped o'er laughter-loving eyes, 
Just now bedimmed, each by a single tear. 
One thought them black, but found with some 

surprise 
That they were blue, and deep e'en as a well 
Whose depths, by passing shadows, none can tell. 
Her ears were small — likewise her hands and 

feet. 
Her bow-shaped mouth was loving, red and 

sweet. 
A well-cut nose gave beauty to a face 
Where rose and lily struggled for a place. 
Tall, willowy, her form was one of grace, 
And every movement of refinement told. 

The other woman was a trifle old, 
And " silver threads " were seen " among the 

gold " 
Of her abundant hair. Careworn and pale, 
Her face, which told the sad unwritten tale 
Of life that was not all a dream of bliss. 

Alas ! the woes of living, none may miss ; 
And since each year must bring its weight of care, 
Who longest lives must have the largest share. 
" Lucinda," thus the elder spoke, " my heart 
Is filled with sorrow that we thus should part ! 
If you were going home, it would be well. 
Though I would miss you, I should not rebel ; 
Your mother has a prior claim to show. 
But I am vexed and sad to see you go 
Out in the world to earn a livelihood — 
You who life's mildest storms have not withstood, 
Since you were ever sheltered from each blast. 
Why, why, if you will not dependent be 



8 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

And take your living with my love from me, 
Return you not to her who gave you birth, 
Whose love for you is best of all the earth?" 
" Aunt Esther," cried the girl, with sudden 

zest 
A pale hand pressing to her throbbing breast, 
" You know not all that brought me to the west. 
God knows I love my own New Hampshire hills, 
Her fertile valleys and her sparkling rills ; 
And sacred on the altar of my heart," 
My mother's memory has place and part, 
Beside that of the sister I adore ! 
I long for them— but there is something more ! 
I love with all my soul's idolatry, 
A man who most devoutly worships me ! 

" We two were once betrothed. An evil hour 
Caused one dark cloud of jealousy to low'r 
Which, growing, filled my soul with direful 

dread, 
Then burst, a blast of fury, on my head! 

" His mother had a friend — a fair young maid 
Whom he had wed, at once, had lie obeyed 
His parent's stern commands. That couple laid 
A subtle scheme — I was their witless aid. 
In my mad jealousy, I set him free 
And told him he was nothing more to me. 
Then, while the wound was deep, she, soothing 

came 
Full of regretful love, and begged the blame 
Might all be hers — that she might intercede 
With wilful me ; yet joyed that he was freed. 
" But he was proud and maddened with the 

pain ; 
And, goaded by their pit}^ grew insane 
For one brief hour — the saddest in his life. 
Alas ! for me, who was his promised wife ! 
She loved him, too, and with a woman's art 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 9 

She set her snares to trap my Ronald's heart — 
At least, his hand ; and well did she succeed ! 
She soothed him in his loneliness and need, 
And, ere his reason had regained its throne, 
He was her husband — yes, her very own ! 

" Aunt Esther, well I know my eyes are bright, 
My face is full and healthy, pink and white ; 
But, God keep you from grief like mine that 

night 
When came the news that he was lost to me 
Through all this life, perhaps Eternity ! 

" I had not seen his bride except as she, 
In passing, had been pointed out to me ; 
For she had been at Ronald's home a guest, 
There, for a season only, seeking rest ; 
And there I called not, since his mother's hate 
Had closed on me both door and garden-gate ; 
But now I had an insane wish to know 
If he had any share in my great woe ! — 
A longing, once, and only once, to see 
The woman, who had taken him from me ! 

" The house was all alight — the folks within. 
(A quiet, tourless wedding, it had been ; 
For, married in hot haste, no time had they 
To make much preparation for the day.) 
Like any thief, hid by night's sable pall, 
I passed the gate, crept softly to the wall, ' 
And looked in at a window. He was there, 
His head bowed low upon an easy chair, 
As if his life knew only blank despair ; 
While she, fair, golden-haired, and robed in 

white, 
Flashed on my vision like a thing of light. 

" ' My husband and my love,' I heard her say, 
' God pity me, if you regret this day.' 
And on his drooping head a hand she laid, 
With mute caress, yet seeming half afraid 



10 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

That some repulse, or bitter word, perchance 
Would come from him to meet her fond advance. 

" But, no. He drew her quickly to his breast ; 
And, while her fair head nestled there in rest, 
His grief found vent in agonizing tears, 
Such as are seldom wept in manhood's years. 

" Alas ! I could endure to see no more, 
My woe was greater than it was before 
I knew what suffering had come to him. 

" I left them thus. But memory grows dim 
Regarding all that happened from that day 
Till weeks — yes, months, of shadows passed 
away. 

" I vainly thought I could be strong and brave, 
But fever brought me very near the grave, 
And I did little else than moan and rave, 
And wish for death to set my spirit free. 

" But such release was not in store for me. 

" Slowly, yet surely, health to me returned ; 
But ere it did so, my poor Ronald learned 
Lucinda's heart was aching like his own, 
With wounds to be endured with wordless moan. 

" We met at last. Kind Heaven, can I tell 
Our bitter anguish when we said farewell ! 

" One instant, he was begging me to flee 
With him to some far land across the sea, 
Pledging his life and love to me till death, 
Then changed his tone, before another breath, 
Entreating me, with tears, to help him do 
. His duty, and to his marriage vow be true ! 

" Yet, thrice he sought me — thrice, we said 
farewell, 
For love had cast on both its witching spell ! 
What might have happened — ah ! I dare not 

think. 
Full well I know I stood upon the brink 
Of infamy and ruin. So I fled — 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 11 

At midnight's hour, crept softly from my bed, 
And, ere the morning dawned, was miles away 
From those I loved, and where I longed to stay. 

"Aunt Esther, years have passed since that 
sad day, 
And yet my soul goes out with longing cry 
To my lost love ! With him to live or die 
Is more than Heaven is to sinful me ! 

" Now, feeling thus, should I return, or flee 
Still farther from the tempter's luring voice, 
At sound of which my spirit would rejoice, 
In sprte of all the teachings of my youth, 
And innate love of purity and truth ? " 

Lucinda paused. She could no longer speak. 
A tear dropped softly down on either cheek. 
She clasped the pillar, where the brier grew, 
And turned her mournful face away from view. 

" My darling child," the other gently said, 
" Three years are in the past since here you fled, 
And, until recently, you seemed content 
In this your voluntary banishment. 
Why grow you restless now ? I am the same 
As when for refuge to my heart you came. 
Indeed, your thoughtful care has made you 

dearer, 
And to my life each year has brought you nearer. 

" Our home is not a grand one, it is true, 
But it can well sustain and shelter you; 
And I can gratify your girlish pride 
In dress and books, nor need you leave my side. 
Can take you little journeys now and then, 
And let you rest when we are home again. 
Now, why refuse to share my ample purse 
And go to Clyde to be a servant-nurse, 
Or reader (sure I know not which is worse) 
To some capricious invalid, who knows 
Naught of another mortal's ills or woes ? 



12 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

Where you will never rest by night or day, 
And where you only go that you may say 
That you are independent on your pay ? " 

" No, aunt ; it is the demon of unrest 
That has, at last, found lodging in my breast, 
Which causes me to yearn for something new ! 
But I, perhaps, will soon return to you, 
Quite thankful that I have a friend, so true ! 
I feel a danger waiting very near, 
And that is why I wish to go from here 
To where I am unknown. A low estate 
Will not fulfill the dreams which come of late." 

" What dreams, Lucinda ? " Esther asked. 

" Dreams that I met my Ronald ; that I basked 
In the full sunlight of his happy face 
And on his bosom found a resting-place. 
Aunt Esther, keep me not. I am not strong. 
If he should seek me, it might lead to wrong. 
I know I should be powerless to flee 
If lie should come as in my dreams to me ; 
For I am far less reconciled to-day 
To my sad fate than when I came away. 

" O, I have thought of him these weary years, 
Grief-bowed and weeping bitter, scalding tears ! 
As one grows tender to a wounded dove, 
So martyrdom has added to my love, 
And all my soul goes reaching out to him." 

" Hush ! hush ! my child, that is a sinful 
whim," 
Returned Aunt Esther. " It is brooding long 
That leads you to conclusions which are wrong. 
This Ronald seeks you not; hence it is plain 
That he has now accepted all the pain 
That parting brought. Perhaps has ceased to 

yearn, 
Or even care, my child, for your return. 
For, fickle man can well accommodate 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 13 

Himself to any path, marked out by fate. 
Only we, women, poor duped creatures, grieve 
For buried love, and we alone believe 
That such love is immortal — lives again 
Beyond this world of pain. 'Tis seldom men 
Sigh for the happiness that they have missed, 
And constancy for them does not exist. 

"Advice is seldom heeded; yet I say, 
'Tis sinful thus to wear your life away, 
Mourning for what can never be your own. 
Nor need you always walk your path alone. 
The world has many Ronalds — men as true 
As he, who, in revenge, has wounded you. 
You think you suffer, dear, and yet the wife 
That is unloved has far the saddest life. 
And I had such a thankless fate as that, 
With all the desolation it begat." 

" What ! " cried Lucinda. " You, Aunt Esther, 
you 
For whom I thought its sweetest flowers grew?" 

" Yes, even I ! I was an unsought bride. 
But love with me was greater far than pride. 
Your uncle wooed and won me, ere he knew 
That later love, which upward springing threw 
Its clinging tendril round his fickle heart. 
He asked release, and begged that we might part. 

" I could not, would not, let him go from me ; 
The very thought was intense misery. 
And so I held him firmly to his vow — 
God only knows how I regret it now! 
For never did his wounded pride unbend. 
He was my husband, yet was not my friend. 

"I lived my life alone, and learned to hide 
My misery when he was by my side. 

" Indifference, my child, is worse than hate. 

" He took the burden up, not very late ; 
And soon its weight he did not seem to mind. 



14 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

" God keep you, dear, from pining, as I pined, 
For love and sympathy — one little word 
Of true devotion that I never heard ! 
In fact, his tone and look were seldom sweet, 
With loving care, to even Marguerite. 
He was a toiler ; but his only aim 
Was to acquire a literary fame ; 
And faithfully he labored to that end. 
He often saw the night with day-light blend 
Before he thought to lay aside his pen, 
And in an hour was at his work again. 

" Reward of labor was to him denied ; 
For he was stricken down in manhood's pride. 
All loveless he had lived — and thus he died. 

" But while upon his brow the death-dews lay, 
The shadows from his soul were swept away. 
He saw how hopeless my young life had been 
And felt a deep repentance for the sin 
Of having rendered it so valueless ; 
Regretting that he could not make redress. 

" Among his letters, when they came to view, 
Was one which I would like to read to you. 

" It is an hour before the stage is due ; — 
If you would hear it, come into my room. 
It tells of one who rose above life's gloom, 
And hid a buried love with fragrant bloom. 
Her brave example ought to make you strong 
To do the right and to reject the wrong." 

Lucinda followed dumbly. Such despair 
As hers, she thought, no other heart could share. 

The letter had no date or even head ; 
Nor was it signed ; and thus is how it read : 

" Why bring back the dead past, when its strug- 
gles are o'er ? 
It is only a corpse, and is silent and cold ! 
Far better to rest in its grave evermore ! 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 15 

Far too sacred its story to be even told ! 

We have met and have loved, as a thousand have 

done ; 
We have met and have parted, as thousands may- 
do; 
We have known all the joy that by loving is 

won; 
We have felt all the pain that despair ever 

knew. 
^Time, the healer, has watered the grave of our 

love, 
And in silence it sleeps 'neath the emerald sod. 
It was born of the angels — its home is above ! 
'Twas a love such as spirits may give to their 

God! 
It is dead, yet immortal — the earthly at rest 
In its grave, never more to be rosy and warm ; 
But its spirit will live in the realms of the blest, 
And will watch, from its haven, the mouldering 

form. 
" I knew not when 1 met you, your honor was 

pledged 
To another ; nor asked — so the fault was my own. 
Our two souls by our friendship securely seemed 

hedged 
And how love took possession by neither is 

known. 
Then I dared not to ask, lest the answer might 

blight 
All my hopes of the future, most dazzlingly fair; 
But chose rather to dream in Love's beautiful 

light, 
And thus laid for my soul a temptation and 

snare. 
" And this might, in a manner, excuse me from 

blame — 
But the error was mine, and still mine let it be. 



16 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

I will bear all my portion of sorrow and shame, 
If a shame, in our past, the great Father may 

see ! 
" You were stronger, ah ! maybe, were better 

than I ; 
For while I was in darkness, your duty was plain ; 
And you turned a deaf ear to your soul's longing 

ciy, 
And your pleading to me, I thank God, not in 

vain. 
" Ah ! you took my two hands, white and cold 

as the dead, 
In your own, not a whit the less icy and white, 
And, with tears in your voice, in hoarse accents 

you said : 
' O, my Bonnibel, help your poor Max to do right ; ' 
" I was weak at the moment — the words made 

me strong ; 
And, although my racked spirit was writhing in 

pain, 
Never soul, held in bondage by mine to the 

wrong, 
Should cry out for its freedom and yet cry in 

vain ! 
" You remember the parting — its woe and 

despair ! 
At the last, I was stronger and braver than you. 
You had shown where we stood and what foot- 
falls were there, 
And my pathway, though rugged, was plain to 

my view. 
" I was gone, ere you dreamed it, and miles 

lay between. 
Far away, among strangers, henceforth I would 

roam. 
Nevermore would I gaze on the beautiful scene 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 17 

Of the land that I loved and the place I called 

home ! 
" Oh how often I fainted, God only can know ! 
How I prayed I might die that my soul might be 

free ! 
But my duty, a star, showed my feet where to go, 
And the angels kept guard and a watch over me ! 
" To the soul that has fought with temptation 

and sin 
And has conquered, though wounded almost to 

its death, 
Comes the angel of peace, and will hover within 
Till the wounds are all healed by her sweet, 

loving breath. 
" She has dwelt in my bosom this many a year, 
And I know that our parting has been for the 

best; 
For we buried our love, while it still was so dear, 
And thus made it immortal, like souls that are 

blest. 
Had it died at our feet, of unkindness, neglect ; 
Had indifference wounded its heart to the core, 
And we buried it gladly, we could not expect 
It to live with the angels, in bliss, evermore. 

" That is all of the story, known only to two, 
And its moral is clear as the light of the sun : 
Keep the star of your duty forever in view 
And sweet Peace will, at last, to your bosom be 

won. 
But 'tis only by sorrow such lessons are taught, 
And I doubt if our story, explicitly told, 
With our every struggle, temptation and thought, 
Would its moral to any weak mortal unfold. 
" Would it not, in its penning, be placing our 

feet 
In the slippery paths, we have sought so to shun ; 
At a time, when a conquest o'er self is complete, 

2 



18 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

When the battle is fought and the victory won ? 
" Rather let us go down to our graves all un- 
sung, 

Let our story die with us, unknown to the world, 

Than our souls by temptation again should be 
wrung, 

And ourselves from the paths of strict duty be 
hurled." 

The reading ceased. Lucinda raised her head, 
And trembled on her lips a wistful sigh. 

'• The' story reads like mine," she softly said. 
" But she was truer, nobler, far than I ! " 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 19 



CHAPTER II. 

A lumbering stage-coach, dirt-begrimed and 
old, 
Yet showing faded tints of red and gold, 
With dashing sweep, up to the farmhouse rolled ; 
The driver, grasping hard the reins, with " whoa!" 
In most decided tones, as if to show 
His lean and sad-eyed steeds were hard to hold. 

" Good-bye, Lucinda," said a gentle voice. 
" If you find happiness, I shall rejoice. 
But if, as I much fear the case will be, 
The servitude but brings you misery, 
Remember love and welcome waits with me." 

The other hoarsely said : 

" Dear aunt, good-bye ! " 

Yet this was uttered with a gasping sigh, 
Although her gratitude voiced no reply. 

But swiftly down the garden path, she went, 
Fearing her unshed tears might find a vent, 
If she should utter but another word ; 
For, even then, her drooping eyes were blurred 
With moisture, as they sought the ground. 

She gained the faded cushions with a bound, 

The driver straightened up and made a dip 
Into the air, and nourish with his whip ; 
And forward sprang the horses with a will, 
Quite briskly trotting till they crossed the rill ; 
But slacked their pace before they reached the 

hill, 
Then crept along, as stage-coach horses do, 
Until some town or city comes in view. 

The glory of the spring was everywhere. 



20 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

'Twas breathed forth in .the sweetness of the air; 
Reflected from the cloud-flecked skies of blue, 
And from the rippling water's deeper hue. 
It glistened in the thorn's sweet, snowy flowers; 
And in the may-blooms, falling down in showers, 
When stirred by gusts of wind, which bore along 
The blossom's fragrance and the wild birds' song. 

The scene Was ever changing. Willows threw 
Their shadows where the yellow cowslips grew 
Beside the placid pools ; and near to these 
Were less adventurous oaks and other trees; 
And, here and there, were piles of maple keys. 
The dutchmen's-breeches bent above the rills; 
The pink arbutus trailed adown the hills ; 
And modest violets, both white and blue, 
Which everywhere in great abundance grew, 
Their sweet perfume upon the breezes threw. 

Lucinda's gaze went roaming, on, and on, 
From hill to valley and from field to town ; 
From happy bird to faith-inspiring bloom; 
While she sat wondering if e'er the gloom 
Of her life's winter could be swept away, 
And on her hopeless j^outh, dawn blooming May. 

She was the only passenger that day, 
And her wild thoughts had ample chance for play. 

The long hours passed; but none too soon. 
A dinner at a country inn at noon 
Was all the incident, unless we add 
The change of horses, which was had. 

As sunset neared, the hills became more steep : 
And the ravines proportionately deep. 
Then came a table-land, from which high plain 
Was seen, beyond the fields of growing grain, 
A winding river. On the other side, 
Arose the houses of the village Clyde, 
Which nestled in a valle}* ; and away 
Toward the west, a range of mountains lay. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 21 

The Edgeworth place was far the grandest 
there, 
The grounds were laid out with much taste and 

care ; 
The house was large, and built for sun and air; 
And luxury apparent everywhere. 

The sun still lingered in the glowing west, 
And hung suspended o'er a mountain's crest, 
When Jehu dashed up at a break-neck rate, 
And reined his steeds quite near a garden gate. 
Then to the one lone passenger, he cried, 
Or rather bawled out : 

" This is Edgeworth, Clyde." 

At last ! Lucinda caught her breath and sighed; 
Then she began to wonder at the freak, 
That led her thus in servitude to seek 
A home, where no one knew or cared for her. 
A feeling — almost shame began to stir 
Within her bosom at the very thought. 
She only as a servant had been sought 
At Edgeworth. 

Once, urged on by discontent, 
She, reckless, answered an advertisement. 
A reader, nurse, companion — all 
In one, was wanted at the " Hall." 
A correspondence followed, at the end 
Resulting in her quitting her good friend, 
And going out with eager hope to find 
A happier and more contented mind. 

She passed up to the house, through lilac-trees 
Which gave their spring-like odor to the breeze, 
And filled her with a longing for the farm — 
So quiet, and so sheltered from the harm 
That well she knew was waiting her outside— 
It might be in that very house at Clyde. 

Lucinda Treverton was on her card. 



22 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

A servant took it, looking at her hard, 
With something of a sneer upon his face, 
As if she sought to rise above her place. 

He left her standing in the hall alone, 
The sun had set. Its light no longer shone 
In level beams of crimson and of gold 
Through transom windows. Never very bold, 
Lucinda now stood trembling in the gloom 
And ghostly twilight of the stifling room ; 
Wishing she might retrace her steps and flee 
Before another saw her misery. 

A door unclosed. A sheen of golden hair 
And snow} 7- robes flashed out upon the air. 
A lady, fair and young, was standing there. 

" My aunt is ill," in measured tones she said, 
"And I am here to answer in her stead. 
I am her niece — arrived but yesterda3 r 
Quite unexpected. Yet I know the way 
Up to her maid's apartment. 

" So your name 
Is Treverton ! Familiar whence I came 
But not of the same family, I know." 

Lucinda reeled, as if a sudden blow 
Were dealt her by some unknown, unseen foe. 
How well she knew that face ! It was the one 
By whom her happiness had been undone — 
There stood the wife of Ronald, — her own Ronald 
Dean ! 

Her sight grew dim, and lights of red and 
green 
Mixed with a midnight blackness, whirling, flew 
Across her vision, disappeared from view, 
And ghostly gloom enveloped her once more. 
Then, with a thud, she dropped down to the 
floor. 

The other screamed ere taking time for 
thought 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 23 

That such was the revenge that she had sought — 
Revenge because she found, to her heart's cost, 
That Ronald still was mourning for the lost. 

Again the door unclosed, and Ronald Dean 
Quite suddenly appeared upon the scene, 
Heading a crowd of servants, all intent, 
On learning what that scream of terror meant. 

" Lucinda Treverton ! " he hoarsely cried, 
And in an instant knelt him at her side ; 
Then raised and drew her head close to his breast, 
The place where he had hoped that it might rest. 

" What means this, Edith ; whence and where 
and how 
Came she to be as we both see her now?" 

Thus spoke up Ronald, and his flashing eyes 
Showed plainly that he would not list to lies 
Or to equivocations for a fact. 

And so, to seem quite candid and exact, 
She frankly said : 

" This girl is aunty's maid, 
Now just arrived. Housed, fed and paid 
She will be as the others were. Afraid 
Am I that she is ill. She spoke no word, 
Nor did she seem as if she even heard 
When I, at aunty's bidding, came to show 
Her to her room. 

" Of course, I could not know 
She was the friend you loved so long ago. 
How could I dream Lucinda Treverton 
And aunty's unknown serving-maid were one ? 
Don't look at me as though I were to blame ! 
I knew not she was coming, till she came. 
I did hear aunty say a maid was hired, 
But at the time I felt so very tired, 
I gave the matter not a second thought — 
Nor do I really see just why I ought ! 
It was her card that first revealed her name, 



24 THE SIX OF EDITH DEAN. 

Though I could not believe she was the same 
Lucinda Treverton that you once knew." 

Ronald responded not. His arms he threw 
About the girl with loving tenderness 
That might almost be called a mute caress, 
And bore her from the Stirling air and gloom, 
Straight to the large and airy drawing-room. 

Here Eolith interposed : 

" My dear," said she, 
" Her glance should not rest first on you and me." 

" Quite right," he made reply, though moodily. 
Then to the female servants spoke, and said : 
"I pray you put my little friend to bed. 
She was my schoolmate, loving, true and dear. 
I know not what reverses bring her here 
To be aunt Laura Edgeworth's waiting-maid. 
But treat her kindly — you shall be repaid." 

A stress upon the latter words was laid, 
Entreaty showing in his eager eyes. 

The servants, very sharp and worldly-wise, 
Passed glances of intelligent surprise ; 
Yet the command was quietly obeyed. 
Lucinda to her chamber was conveyed 
And, colorless and silent as the dead, 
Was placed upon a pretty, white- draped bed. 

A lamp upon the marble mantle burned, 
When consciousness at length, to her returned, 
To realize that, with departing day, 
Her hope of restful peace had passed away — 
That in the morn, she must her steps retrace, 
Since she could never dwell at Edgeworth place. 

Ah ! better far were beggary, or sin, 
Than from a soul of Edith's kith or kin 
To take so little as a mouldy crust ! 

The girl's proud head was humbled to the 
dust. 
Regretting bitterly her headstrong will, 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 25 

For Edith's cruel words had sent a thrill 
Of shame vibrating to her fingers' ends, 
How much she longed to see her farm-house 
friends ! 

And as she thus, repentant, moaning, lay 
Her tea was brought. She ordered it away, . 
Demanding that she should be left alone. 

The servants, nettled at her haughty tone, 
Withdrew ; yet going, heard a smothered moan, 
Something between a sob and gasping sigh ; 
And so they half forgave the tart reply. 



25 TUB to IN OF EDITH DEAN. 



CHAPTER III. 

The clocks were telling of the midnight hour. 
The great bell, swinging in the church tower, 
At sleeping Clyde, announced a new-born day, 
Though still unheralded its faintest ray, 
lief ore Lncitida gained the strength to rise, 
And bathe her throbbing brow and burning eyes. 

What should she do — await the coming light, 
Or steal away amid the gloom of night ? 
For go she must. . She could not bear to hear, 
One other time, the cold, malicious sneer 
Of Ronald's wife ; — to know he might be near, 
And yet to her no nigher than a stranger. 

How she had come upon the very danger 
That she had sought so zealously to flee ! 
Alas! what was the end of this to be? 

Then pride came, bringing strength to her 
relief. 
What had she done to steal forth like a thief, 
While sleep locked up the senses of her foe ? 
No. She would go as honest people go — 
Seen fully in the clear, broad light of day, 
Telling them frankly that she would not stay. 

The moon arose — a pale and waning moon. 
The hours were speeding, 'twould be morning 

soon. 
She must be calm to meet it when it came ; 
Nor let her face tell aught of grief or shame. 

She paced the floor ; backward and forward 
"turned, 
But still with fever heat her eyelids burne 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 27 

Although the blood receded from her lips 
And they were cold as were her finger-tips. 

She next unclosed a window ; for the air 
Was growing hot and almost stifling there. 
The window opened on a portico, 
With steps, at either end, that led below, 
And overlooked a garden at the rear 
Of Edge worth Hall, where blooming fruit-trees 

were. 
The cool, delicious breeze brought their per- 
fume 
Up to the window of that stifling room, 
Wooing the girl to spend among the flow'rs 
The minutes of night's few remaining hours. 

She took her wraps that she might not retrace 
Her steps before she left that hateful place. 
She could be stronger — could feel more at home 
Out 'neath the Heaven's blue encircling dome ! 
And so she went. 

The many walks between 
The orchard trees were broad and smooth and 

clean, 
And here and there was placed a garden seat — 
The whole a beautiful, retired retreat. 

On, on, Lucinda sped, like bird on wing, 
Nor paused till she had reached a grapevine 

swing 
That swayed beside a narrow, purling stream — 
The very spot to dream a lover's dream. 

The distance she had gone, she did not know, 
It seemed to her a full half mile or so, 
And she was panting with the rapid walk. 

Into the swing she dropped to think and talk 
Of matters to herself, as girls will do. 
About the vine one slender arm she threw 
And leaned her head against it, while her look 
Wandered in wistful longing to the brook, 



28 THE SIN OF EDITH. BEAN. 

Whose gleaming waters murmured of a rest 
That might be found upon their cooling breast. 

When left by life-storms, desolate and lone, 
Who has not heard the waters' wooing tone 
And felt a restless impulse to obey, 
When " Find a rest with me," they seemed to 
say? 

So felt Lucinda as she slowly swayed 
Upon the grapevine in that silent glade. 

" Alas ! " she mused, " from home and friends 
I flee 
Because my Ronald comes in dreams to me; — 
Only to find an unrelenting foe, 
Who deals my wounded soul a second blow ! 
Ah ! me, how biting was her smiling sneer ! 
I wonder if poor Ronald, too, is here ! 
I seemed to feel, though sealed my eyes, and 

weak, 
His breath one single instant on my cheek — 
One moment I, of joy's elixir, drank, 
Before my life became an utter blank. 
It was a dream, perhaps. Naught but the hate 
Of most relentless and most cruel fate, 
Could lead me to him in my low estate ! " 

" Nay, it was a loving fate," a soft voice said, 
" That to her spirit's mate my darling led." 

Lucinda, startled, quickly turned her head; 
And there, five steps away, stood Ronald Dean, 
With closely folded arms and quiet mien, 
His handsome face with eager hope alight, 
And love-lit eyes that gleamed like stars at 
night. 

" Ronald ! How came you here ? " Lucinda 
cried. 

" I followed you, my darling," he replied. 
" I can endure this woe no longer. I 
Will cut my bonds, or, ere the morning, die ! " 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 29 

He forward sprang and kneeled him at her 
feet — 

She had already left her grapevine seat 
And seemed about to flee — she knew not where ; 
But felt it was improper to be there. 

" Stay ! stay ! " he cried, " one moment, dear ! 
This once you must, and shall, my pleading 

hear ! 
The storm that wrecked your life wrecked mine 

as well ! 
Of my heart's pain, nor tongue nor pen can tell ! 
Though I have tried to walk by duty's light, 
I find myself amid the gloom of night, 
Not knowing where to go, or turn to flee 
The keen remorse that is pursuing me ! 
For through the years I've been by Edith's side 
No moment has my soul not called its bride ! 

" And you have dreamed of me ! How sweet 
it seems 
That I have not been banished from your dreams. 
Indeed, my love, if thought can know no space 
Or bonds, mine had with you a dwelling-place." 
And yet I sought you not. I felt that fate 
Would lead us two together, soon or late." 

A heavy pain tugged at Lucinda's heart 
As low she said : 

" We only meet to part. 
Too honored is my noble father's name 
For me to link it to a life of shame ! 
Seek you your wife ! I go back whence I came 
As soon as morning dawns. Why then prolong 
This sad, sad meeting? Let us flee the wrong 
Before the little strength we have is spent, 
Remembering that sin brings punishment ; 
And though we tread awhile its blooming path, 
We cannot hide us from the storm-cloud's wrath. 

"You have a wife and, sister writes, a child. 



30 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

So Heaven on your loneliness has smiled. 

Had I a darling bright-eyed boy, my own, 

In honest wedlock, he would half atone 

For all the anguish that I have endured. 

Ere this, his love, my bleeding wounds had 

cured. 
Though in the whole great world, naught else 

were mine, 
I would no longer at my fate repine. 
He would make up my little world ; with love 
Would light my grov'ling thoughts to things 

above 
This shallow life to God's eternal throne ! " 

She tearful, paused. Her words were like a 
moan ; 
And Ronald answered only by a groan. 

"Such joy is' yours, bat I am all alone! " 
She added in a low heart-broken tone. 

" And so am 1,7 he said. " The mother's 
heart 
Claims of his love, each parcel and each part; 
And I, who give her none, must leave the whole 
Of her child's love to satisfy her soul. 
E'en that suffices not, and so we live 
Unhappily, since I have none to give. 
She knew this ere we wedded, for a fact ; 
Yet keeps a jealous watch on every act 
And word of mine — a cruel espionage 
That thwarts love's purposes in every age. 

" Though held Iry prison walls a man may be, 
Chained in a dungeon, yet his love is free. 
The fetter never, never has been wrought 
That binds his heart's affection and his thought. 

" Lucinda, all my soul goes out to you ! 
I can not, will not, bid a long adieu ! 
And since we may not live in love, then why 
May we not here, together, darling, die ! " 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 31 

Lucinda with a shudder made reply: 

"It is the tempter, Ronald, urging you 
To he to your own hetter self untrue ! 
Think how our friends would grieve — the world 

deride 
Our hopeless love and double suicide! 
It was a weakness — say that it is gone ! 
Take up your cross, my friend, and bear it on ! 
Help will yet come as surely as the dawn. 
Now, we must part — and so good-bye! good- 
bye !" _ ' 

What piercing pain was in her gasping sigh, 
And oh ! 'how vice-like was the icy band 
Around her heart, as Ronald reached his hand, 
And said in broken tones : 

" If you so will 
So shall it be. Grief blights, but does not kill, 
I have been told ; and we will live. Good-bye." 

He pressed her hand ; then turned and walked 
away 
So rapidly, she could not bid him stay 
Were such her wish ; for he was lost to view 
Before a second gasping breath she drew. 

Her strength was gone. She could not reach 
her seat ; 
Nor could she hold herself upon her feet. 

She tottered ; then dropped to the ground, 
and there 
She, moaning, lay in bridgeless, blank despair. 
A numbness crept about her heart, and death 
Seemed to be struggling with her for her breath. 
She could not rise — she was so faint and weak ; 
And, though she tried, no sentence could she 
speak. 

Would morning find her thus, or death decide 
The better love, and show him why she died ? 

How long upon the dew-wet ground she lay 



32 THE SIN OF EDITE DEAN. 

She knew not. Ages seemed to pass away 

Before a coming footstep could be heard ; 

And even then no single muscle stirred, 

For she, alas ! was powerless to stir ; 

And Ronald, it w;is he, bent over her, 

With startled cry, and quickly raised her head. 

Her pallor was the pallor of the dead. 

" Fate wills you to be mine, my love," he said. 
He took her in his arms in fond embrace, 
He chafed her hands, rained kisses on her face, 
And wooed her back to life by loving tones, 
Which found no answer, but in dreary moans; 
Yet she did not repel him, when he pressed 
Her closely to his warm and throbbing breast. 

" Rouse up, my darling, my own spirit bride ! 
An hour hence a train goes out of Clyde, 
The world is all asleep, except the few 
Who go a-journeying as will we two, 
For O, Lucinda, here and now, I swear 
By all our blighted love and blank despair, 
That life or death we two henceforth will share." 

Lucinda raised her head, but did not speak, 
Though tears were dropping softly on each 

cheek. 
She would no longer seek to strive with fate. 
Far better were the cold world's sneers and hate, 
With Ronald's precious love all for her own, 
Than have its praise with woe like she had 

known. 
Weak moments come into the lives of all — 
Some, stumbling, keep their feet, while others 

fall? 
But of their strength and goodness who shall 

say. 
A lesser stumbling block was in their way. 

About her slender figure, Ronald drew 
The wraps, damped by a contact with the dew. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 33 

But as he felt her tremble 'neath her cloak 
He knew her won, although no word she spoke ; 
And when the train pulled out of sleeping Clyde, 
He was thereon ; Lucinda by his side. 



34 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAM. 



*& 



CHAPTER IV. 

Thb rising sun shot up its lurid rays 
And all the heavens seemed to be ablaze, 
The glow encircling every tree and flower ; 
Then heavy, threatening clouds began to lower — 
Across its disc they threw a somber pall, 
And soon a dreary rain began to fall. 

Perhaps it was through loving pity, fate 
That morning willed that Edith should sleep 

late. 
Though she had not awakened through the 

night, 
Her dreams had been of loneliness and fright. 
She had been wandering through thorns and 

slush — 
Had seen upon a stretch of leafless brush, 
The waters of a mighty river rush ; 
Had tried to gain a footing somewhat higher, 
But found her way impeded by the mire. 
Above her head had been an inky sky, 
And lurid lightning had gone flashing by ; 
The roaring thunder falling on her ears 
Had filled her shrinking soul with direful fears. 
She had been all alone. Amid the storm, 
Her eager eyes had seen no living form. 
No bird or beast in all that dreary waste, 
Or sign of habitation had been traced. 

Though she had known she dreamed and tried 
to shake 
The nightmare from her, yet she could not 

wake. 
'Twas only after hours of fright and grief 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 35 

That sweet oblivion had brought relief — 
A restful slumber which, at best, was brief. 

When she was roused, the pattering of rain. 
Was the first sensing of her waking brain, 
And brought renewal of her dreamland pain. 

E'en then, she was alone. No head had 
pressed 
The pillow where her husband's was to rest. 

The lamp was burning still ; its sickly glare 
But adding gloom to that already there. 

She had retired before the time to go, 
Leaving her husband on a portico, 
In full enjoyment of a good cigar, 
While listlessly he glanced from star to star, 

Still travel-worn and weary, she had slept; 
Though he, outside, a lonely vigil kept, 
Nor sought his sleeping wife the livelong night. 
No wonder that her dreams were those of fright ! 
She looked about. She had slept all alone ! 
The dawning truth elicited a moan. 
Gone from her side all night — the other there ; 
What if they two had met ? O, dark despair ! 

She dropped back on her pillow. All her life. 
Since she had promised to be Ronald's wife, 
Passed like a vision, whirling through lier brain. 
Her sin had brought a punishment and pain 
Already, though yet scarcely realized ; 
For she had seen go from her what she prized. 

Remorse came to her. She had thought to 
show 
His former love as having fallen low 
Into a servant's berth — a female tramp ; 
And, by her haughty sneers, bring chill and 

damp 
To blight the love-blooms of her rival's heart. 
This she had planned with woman's jealous art. 
If she had only sent Lucinda word, 



36 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

When she had first of the engagement heard, 
That she and Ronald both were there at Clyde, 
The pair, perhaps, would not have thus been 

tried. 
Rather than come, Lucinda would have died. 
This Edith knew. But, in her jealous wrath, 
She held the knowledge that across her path 
The lowly nurse had come in days gone by. 
A fatal error, and she knew not why 
She had committed it. Ah! crazed was she 
With hopeless love and mad, wild jealousy ! 
Poor thing ! She knew how sad it was to rest 
A loving head upon a throbbing breast 
That gave no throb for her ; and in her woe 
She aimed to strike his love a cruel blow, 
Just as we all are wont to strike at those 
Who strike at us, by giving blows for blows — 
Blows that we shame to think of in a day, 
When reason has once more regained its sway. 

While Edith Dean lay thus with half closed 
eyes, 
Dreading to shake the stupor off and rise, 
A door opened, and in walked a child, 
With ruby lips as sweet as ever smiled ; 
And such a sheen of fluffy, golden hair 
As dropped upon his brow, so broad and fair, 
Could never grace a better modeled head. 
His baby-lips wore just a tint of red, 
His hazel eyes repeated every word he said — 
Such eager and expressive eyes were the}-, 
Their glances frank and open as the day. 

Behind him came his nurse — a pretty maid, 
Whose eyes drooped shyly, as if half afraid 
That she was venturing beyond her place. 

The boy ran in and touched his mother's face, 
Arousing her from the awakened thought 
Of that dark morn and all the woe it brought. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 37 

" He wanted ma and pa, and would not wait," 
The servant said : " Besides it is so late ! " 
" Where, then," was sharply asked, " is Mr. 

Dean?" 
" Indeed," was answered, " he has not been 
seen 
Since you retired last night. Miss Treverton, 
I heard the kitchen people say, is gone." 

" Gone ! " Edith looked up, dumbly asking, 
« Where ? " 
. " None know. The room was open ; she not 
there. 
(The lady clinched her hands in blank 
despair.) 

" But she can not be far. Her trunk is here. 
In fact, her home they tell me, is quite near — 
A matter like of fifty miles or so. 
They all are wondering what made her go." 
The trembling of her form, she could not 
hide, 
But Edith Dean possessed a world of pride. 
She would not let the gaping servants know 
That she was fearful of a heavy blow, 
Perhaps disgrace, about to fall, and so 
She said : 

" The girl was once quite well to do. 
She felt a hurt at meeting those she knew, 
And that is why, I think, she went away. 
Then I remember hearing Ronald say 
He would have business out of town to-day. 
I quite forgot it when I first awoke." 

She now turned to her child and smiling 

spoke : 
" My Allan's mamma had a nice long rest. 
Kiss me, my pet, and say whom you love best ! " 
She raised and drew him closely to her breast, 
And held him with a long, fond pressure there. 



38 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

His love, at least, another should not share. 

"" My mamma, papa and my Mabel too," 
Was the quick answer that the question drew ; 

" But whom the best ? " 

" I love my Mabel best." 

" Take him," she said ; " 'tis time that I were 
dressed ; " 
And coldly put the little one aside. 
Her jealous love was nowhere satisfied. 

"Alas!" she cried, when they had gone 
away, 
" My sin has brought me nothing worth the pay. 
One woman has my husband's heart. Alas ! 
Another has my child's ! As in a glass 
I see my punishment : I am alone ! " 
And from her pale lips issued moan on moan. 

Ere eventide, the Dean disgrace was known. 



THE SIN OF EDITH LEAN. 39 



CHAPTER V. 

RONALD TO EDITH. 

" I WRITE you this letter with feelings of pain, 

For my struggle to do ray whole duty was vain. 

" O, you knew from the first, I was bankrupt 

of heart, 
And of husband's affection could give you no 

part ; 
Yet I hoped to be true in each act, if not thought ; 
And that time, long ere this, some contentment 

had brought. 
"But, alas! when I saw my lost darling last 

night, 
As she lay so nigh death, all silent and white, 
Knowing well 'twas my act that had brought her 

such woe, 
I gave up the struggle — and better 'twere so, 
For your life without love is wretched and lone, 
And, by living a lie, I am wrecking my own. 

" As my act is desertion you soon can be free, 
As I wish, by divorce, from unfortunate me ; 
And I leave you the half of my means and estate, 
On condition you seek not to alter my fate. 

" You will find consolation in Allan, our son, 
Who will love you far better than I could have 

done r 
But I trust, in some future, will come to your 

life 
All the love that you long for — the joys of a 

wife. 
For you are so loving, so beautiful, true, 



40 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

That a heart, yet unclaimed, must do homage to 

you; 
And, somewhere in the world, is a spirit in wait, 
For a meeting to claim you, its darling and 

mate. 
" Just a word of the boy — tell him not, while 

so young, 
The disgrace that the world will roll under its 

tongue 
As a morsel most sweet. No, tell him, instead, 
That the father who loves him is named with the 

dead. 
But when crowned with young manhood, the 

story disclose 
Of his father's disgrace, his love and his woes, 
Asa warning to him, that he never may try 
To be honest and truthful by living a lie. 

"I would ask your forgiveness — alas ! but my 

sin 
Is too glaring, and naught but your hatred can 

win. 
But when time shall have softened the blow to 

your heart, 
You will pity the wretch who of sin found a 

a part 
Where soever he turned, though he wished to 

be true ; 
And I trust will be glad that he bade you adieu — 
That a gulf, dark and bridgeless, is lying 

between 
Yourself and our Allan, and 

" Your 

" Ronald Dean." 

Such was the letter that next morning came 
To add a pang to Edith's woe and shame. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 41 

Far more, perhaps, than either sinner, she 
Felt the disgrace — the stain that could not be 
Blotted from their fair name and memory. 
The sin of poor Lucinda, she felt sure 
She wrought, and therefore lying at her door. 

Though Edith had done wrong, there was in 
her 
A great nobility of character. 
Her love for Ronald Dean had wrought 
A cruel selfishness of act and thought; 
Because she wished to claim him all her own, 
Had tried his worshipped idol to dethrone, 
By most unworthy measures, gaining so 
The little of his love he could bestow ; 
And, through a mad desire to know the worst, 
Had sought to test his faith, and thus been 
cursed. 

But now she took herself to task, and in 
Stern judgment sat upon her acts of sin. 
Natures less nobly formed than hers had thrown 
The blame upon the criminals alone, * 
And justified themselves because they saw 
In all their acts, no one condemned by law. 
But Edith Dean with nicer insight sought 
To do strict justice to each act and thought 
Of hers ; for they the others' crimes had wrought. 
Except for her, their lives had now been pure ; 
Nor need she such remorse and woe endure. 

Upon the sheet she dropped her throbbing 
head, 
And though despair came with the lines just 

read, 
To make the restitution in her pow'r 
W as her one wish in that dark, bitter hour. 

" Why cry you, mamma?" little Allan said. 

*' Because your papa, darling mine, is dead! " 
The mother whispered in a sobbing tone. 



42 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

" And your poor mamma now is all alone." 

" My papa dead ! " The wistful eyes were 
raised 
And in their depths, the lonely mother gazed. 

" Did angels come to him the other night 
While we all slept, and dress him up in white ? 
Give him a crown of gold and pretty wings ? 
And is he looking at us while he sings ? " 

" Alas ! just how he went I do not know; 
I was asleep and did not see him go." 

" Then who has told you, mamma, he is dead ?' 
The child with great persistence said. 

" This letter, love, that came to me to-day." 

" O, yes. The angels took my pa away 
And God has sent a letter down to you ! " 

" Alas," groaned Edith, " would that it were 
true ! 
My child ! " she cried, and with a sudden zest 
She clasped him to her wildly throbbing breast ; 
" I, too, will die unless you love me best ! " 

" Then God would send a letter down to me; 
But I could read it not. I am too wee." 
His eyes met hers frankly as he added : " So 
I'd take it to my Mabel — she would know. 
I hope the angels will not make her go." 

The mother reeled, as if beneath a blow. 
Her serving-maid had won her darling's heart 
Away from her by sweet seductive art, 
While she, who longed for love, as souls for 

Heaven, 
Was robbed of even what her child had given. 

In that dark hour, she make a quick resolve — 
She, too, would disappear and none should solve 
The mystery of how or where she went, 
Or know how any after-time was spent. 
Her child was young — his little heart soon won 
And she would win it as the girl had done. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 43 

His sole companion, she henceforth would be, 

Their home some lonely cottage by the sea, 

A spot where few would come, and none would 

know 
Aught of her short, unhappy life, or woe. 
When domiciled, at length, she should be there 
Then Edith Dean was lost in Edith Dare; 
And Allan, never more should bear the name 
Of him who linked it to a life of shame. 
She would be dead to all ; and Ronald free 
To wed Lncinda, as he wished to be. 

She touched a bell. The nurse in answer 
came. 

" I go to Summerville to-morrow. You must 
stay 
To care for aunty while I am away." 
She said to Mabel : "Business takes me there. 
Allan goes, too. You will not have that care." 

" O, Mrs. Dean, do leave the baby ! do ! " 
The girl exclaimed. " He sure will worry 
you ! " 

But Edith answered kindly, 

" Aunt will need 
All of your time with me away. You read 
Delightfully. Miss Treverton, I know, 
Cannot surpass your tones, so sweet and low. 
Right glad I am to leave you, while I go." 

The flattery told, the girl was pleased, indeed, 
And to the plan without demur agreed, 
But hoped her charge would not be long away. 

How long the mistress was not free to say. 
Her business might detain her for a day 
Or two, at Summerville ; not more, and then — 

The speaker paused. The girl supplied the 
rest, 
And so no further was the question pressed. 

His Mabel never saw the child again. 



44 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 



CHAPTER VI. 

The level sun-rays on the hill-tops lay- 
When in the morning Edith went away, 
In the same coach that brought Lucinda there. 

The day was just as sweet and fair as that 
On which her rival came ; but Edith sat 
Among the faded cushions, heeding not, 
In contemplation of her bitter lot, 
The gay songs of the birds among the trees, 
The bonny flowers and kisses of the breeze. 

Her little son was sitting by her side, 
Enticed there by the promise of a ride, 
Yet fretful at the absence of his nurse. 
Then he was sleepy, and that made him worse — 
It being sooner than his rising time. 
The mother soothed him with a nursery rhyme, 
And soon he slept. But later when he woke, 
" I want my Mabel ! " were the words he spoke. 

From Laura Edgeworth, Edith Dean had 
trace 
Of poor Lucinda's former dwelling-place, 
And her relations at the Brighton farm. 
Now, Edith leaned her head against her arm, 
And fell to wondering if she could face 
The friends of one whom she had led to sin ; 
And if the aunt would even let her in 
When she should ask to be admitted there ; 
For such a thing she was about to dare. 
She had a message that she wished to send 
To Ronald and Lucinda, through a friend, 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 45 

Before she quitted home and those she knew 
And disappeared from trace as well as view. 

In time, the farm was reached, and Edith 
stood, 
Wrapped in the robes of lonely widowhood, 
Beneath the wild sweet briar, and trembling 

leant 
Against a pillar, for her strength was spent ; 
And she, who till that moment, had been brave, 
Was sinking 'neath the overwhelming wave 
Of hopeless misery and glaring shame. 

But to her side a sweet-faced woman came, 
Who patted Allan's golden head and smiled. 
Then to the mother said, 

" Come in, my child ; 
That you are ill is plainly to be seen." 

" You may not wish it. I am Edith Dean ! " 
The pale lips gasped ; and Esther gave a start, 
Clasping her hands in woe across her heart. 

But Edith cried : 

" O, do not drive me hence ! 
If in my power, I will make recompense 
For all the wrong that I have done your niece." 

Then Esther waved her hand. 

" I pray you cease," 
She said. " That you once wronged her may be 

true, 
But she has done a wicked wrong to you, 
Which I cannot forgive. I loved her so ; 
And she has dealt to me the keenest blow 
That could be hers to deal, or mine to feel. 
I never even dreamed that she would steal 
From my fond guardianship, to seek disgrace — 
To meet a lover at the Edge worth place, 
And go with him without the marriage tie." 

" You wrong her, Mrs. Brighton — it is I 
Who am to blame," was Edith's sad reply. 



46 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

" For I, who suffer most, can safely swear 
That she could not have known our presence 

there 
When she set out for Clyde. We did not know 
An hour before the starting, we would go. 
We had been south. Already we had turned 
Homeward, when by a telegram we learned 
Of aunty's illness, and concluded then, 

As we might never have the chance again, 

To visit her, arriving there the day 
Before your niece arrived. 

" And now I pray 
That you will hear my story to the end, 
For I am miles away from any friend 
Who would with patience listen and decide 
Between us. Both of us, alas ! were tried, 
And both have sinned. My sin, I fear, is worse. 
When my Aunt Laura told me of the nurse 
She soon expected, I, in my jealous woe, 
Was silent, for I wished to strike a blow 
That she might feel who held my husband's 

heart. 
I acted thus a most unworthy part — 
One that I shame to tell. With haughty pride 
I met her ; and she fainted by my side. 
Then Ronald came and she was borne away. 
I marked his tenderness while thus she lay, 
Limp, white, unconscious that she was caressed : 
And then I knew that still he loved her best. 

" I saw the two no more. Before the dawn, 
My wicked blow recoiled, for they were gone." 

Said Mrs. Brighton : 

" I appreciate 
Your nobleness ; far more of love than hate 
Was in your sin. But it excuses not 
Lucinda's crime — that she should be a blot 
Upon the honored name her father bore." 



THF SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 47 

" But list, you, madam, I would tell you 
more," 
Said Edith Dean. " I was, alas ! the cause 
Of all their disobedience to the laws. 
I love her not! and yet, O, God, I trust 
I yet possess the honor to be just. 
I saw not with clairvoyant vision, all 
The misery that would my acts befall ; 
Else I had walked my way alone, nor sought 
To claim from Ronald Dean a word or thought 
More than a friend or mere acquaintance ought. 

"But Mrs. Dean comes of a haughty race. 
She did not think Lucinda held a place 
In rank beside her own. She sent for me ; 
And 1, not knowing Ronald was not free, 
Unsought, surrendered up to him the whole 
Of my poor, loving, foolish heart and soul. 

" His mother planned excursions for her guest, 
And Ronald Dean's politeness worked the rest 
Of the misfortune. Not until it came 
Heard I a mention of Lucinda's name. 
Then, madam, true as Heaven judges me, 
I wished an instrument of peace to be ; 
And, though I loved him better than my life, 
I would have bridged the gulf to make her wife 
To Ronald Dean. But, no. I should not stir 
To say the words explaining all to her. 
He felt outraged ; and when he saw me sad, 
He laughing told me he was very glad 
That she had thus released him from his vow, 
Since he could wed 'a better woman now.' 

" I am but human, and I frankly own 
I was made happy by his words and tone. 
His mother, too, was almost wild with joy 
At finding I had won her darling boy, 
And hurried matters with an undue haste. 

" But not till we were married did I taste 



48 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

The bitter draught my sin had brewed for me ; 
For then he mourned in wordless agony. 
He blamed himself and me when she fell ill, 
Declaring boldly that he loved her still. 

" O, Mrs. Brighton, could you only know 
Of all my hours of bitterness and woe, 
You would not curse me, though I dealt the blow 
That you now stagger under." 

" I have known 
What 'tis to be most hopelessly alone," 
The other softly said. " Go on. What more ?" 

" Not much," was the reply. " In time, he wore 
A look more cheerful, seeming quite content 
When Allan to our lonely home was sent. 
And now you know my sin and punishment. 

" Since Ronald Dean is nothing more to me, 
It is my privilege to set him free — 
The only restitution I can make. 

"Some time when better feelings shall awake, 
The girl will write to you; and then, I pray, 
That you most kindly in an answer say 
That Ronald Dean, her Ronald Dean is free 
Of every tie that binds his faith to me ; 
And that it is my wish he should reclaim, 
By wedding her, the honor of her name." 

She turned her gaze toward a garden seat 
Where little Allan sat with Marguerite, 
Who had his lonely moments wiled away 
By story-telling and some baby play. 

" He is my all," she said. " Thank God for 
him!" 

Then Esther Brighton's eyes with tears grew 
dim. 

" I too, have been an idol worshipper — ■ 
Unloved. She is my all. Thank God for her ! " 

" Ah ! " questioned Edith," was your fate like 
mine ? " 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 49 

" Much so," was answered. " What is it to 
pine 
For love and sympathy full well I know, 
Though life brought not to me that harder blow 
That fell on you. But, oh ! we suffer less, 
Each chastened spirit will in time confess, 
By blows that crushing fall, yet leaves us life 
Than by a constant lash, and bitter strife 
To flee the sorrows that we always meet 
Where'er we turn our faces or our feet. 

"My child was left no heritage of shame; 
And yet to meet no father's love she came. 

"He crushed his heart beneath a weight of 
pride, 
Unsympathizing lived and loveless died. 
I almost know, for truth, if fate had willed 
That he should claim the other as his bride, 
In after years, lie would have wrung and chilled 
Her heart, and she had been, as I was, tried. 

" Believe me, dear, your lot is not the worst; 
It is my poor Lucinda who is cursed." 

"But of that curse, I wrought the greater 
share — 
That brings the keenest pang I have to bear," 
Sobbed Edith Dean. " Had I been she, 
I almost fear the curse would rest with me. 
For always, madam, till my strength was tried, . 
I walked my path with ever conscious pride 
In my nobility of character. 
But, from my story, you can well infer 
How meanly weak I am, and pity her, 
Who tried still more than I, grew weak and fell. 

"I leave my message and a long farewell." 
And Edith, sobbing turned, to go away. 

But Esther interposed. " I pray you stay. 
(The stage does not return to Clyde to-day) 



50 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Unless," she added, "You have relatives in 

town, 
In which event, I'll gladly drive you down." 

" I go no more to Clyde," said Edith Dean. 
" Indeed, I soon shall put long miles between 
Myself and all that I have known or seen. 

" I must remain among my friends, of course, 
Until the law shall grant the wished divorce ; 
But not a moment longer will it be 
Than shall suffice by law to set him free ; 
Then he shall never hear again of me. 

" A stranger, here I gladly will remain 
With you, until the leaving of a train ; 
And you are very good, my friend, to be 
So kind to her who wrought your misery." 

"The sin repented is atoned, my dear," 
Said Esther gently. " When you go from here 
You will be stronger far to bear your cross, 
And bow more meekly to your bitter loss, 
Than though your errors were all unconfessed 
And locked as secrets in your lonely breast. 

Come in," she added, "dear, and try to 
rest." 

Then to a cosy parlor led her guest, 
Seeking, by kindly act and woman's art, 
To soothe the lonely creature's aching heart. 

'Twas midnight, and the outside world was 

still, 
When Edith's train pulled out of Summerville ; 
But that sad evening at Brighton farm 
Had not the least of joy nor most of harm, 
Compared with those which had made up her 

life 
Since she was Ronald Dean's unhappy wife. 




EAGLE'S NEST. 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 51 



PAET SECOND. 



CHAPTER I. 

A rock-bound coast, beside the restless sea ; 
A narrow inlet making into land, 
The bluffs on one side, rising bold and free — 
The other bordered by a beach of sand. 

High up a cottage stood, thence, looking down, 
The steeples of a not far distant town 
Embowered by trees, and flanked by fields of 

green, 
Which stretched far inland, could be plainly 

seen. 
The house was reached by one long, winding 

road, 
That led from town, a tasty, neat abode 
Upon a fertile plateau, sheltered by 
Rugged o'erhanging cliffs, that towered high 
Above it, and which seemed to touch the sky. 
Around it, hardy trees and flowers grew ; 
And never was a grander, wider view 
Than offered there. For miles and miles of 

space 
Of sea and land were seen from that sweet 

place. 
One seemed to live a life of romance there — 
Almost beyond the world of sin and care ; 
And nature in her each and every mood 
Could better from the " Eagle's Nest " be viewed 



52 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN 

Than elsewhere in the land. The raging blast 
Which hurls the storm-clouds madly past ; 
The thunder's music and the lightning's gleams ; 
The drenching rains that feed the mountain 

streams ; 
The witching melody of summer hours ; 
The breeze's kiss and sweet breath of the flowers; 
The language and the love-life of the birds ; 
The matchless patience of the shepherd's herds; 
The star bespangled dome — all, all, were best 
As studied from the cosy ' k Eagle's Nest." 

Such was the home of lovely Edith Dare 
And her one child, a boy with golden hair, — 
A lad of seven years, to whom the sea 
Seemed his own native element to be. 
For Edith taught her son to row and swim 
And on his little journeys went with him. 

She taught him, too, with student's matchless 
skill 
All things which of the most importance are, 
And he grasped knowledge with an eager will. 
He soon could tell the distance to a star, 
And knew how high upon the mountain's crest 
Stood his own cottage home — the " Eagle's Nest." 

Two people, well along in years, prepared 
The daily food and for the dwelling cared ; 
But Allan's love with them she never shared. 
She thought and cared for him with tenderness 
That claimed his every thought and fond caress. 
In fact, the servants were so strange and old, 
That Allan sought them not, and never told 
His boyish dreams to them. By signs alone 
Their mistress's wishes were to them made 

known ; 
And Allan looked on them with awe. His pride 
It was to live close to his mother's side ; 
And Edith's longing soul was satisfied. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 53 

She was a stranger there, and not a guest 
E'er came by invitation to the " Nest." 
If any called she sent her servants out 
To greet and show such personage about; 
Yet bidding them to make no note of her, 
Thus leading all who came there to infer 
That those old people owned the pretty home. 
Though sometime they who chose for days to 

roam 
Along the coast, returned with fairy tales 
Of seeing little boats with snowy sails, 
Upon the crested waves ; or, swimming 'round, 
Two lovely mermaids, golden-haired, they found. 
And some had seen them scale the mountain's 

crest, 
And take a refuge in the " Eagle's Nest." 

But when they followed, they were met, 

forsooth, 
By two old folks long parted from their youth, 
Who seemed as owners there, and offered cheer, 
Although no questions did they seem to hear. 
And Edith smiled, for they who thus had 

come 
Knew not the man and wife were deaf and 

dumb. 
To keep her secret safe she had sought those 
Two honest people, who could not disclose 
Because they knew naught. Nor could hear 

nor speak. 
And further information would not seek, 
Since in that pretty home they were content, 
And wondered not at her self-banishment. 
It was a dangerous coast, and ships steered 

clear — 
But few were known to make a landing near; 
A sea-port twenty miles toward the north 
Accommodating such as journeyed forth. 



54 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

But hunters and romantic tourists strayed 
Thither at times ; and they were well repaid 
By choicest game, and views, forgotten not, 
E'en though to live for ages were their lot. 

" My mamma," will we always dwell up 
here?" 
Asked Allan, late one warm September day. 

" I think so. Are you not contented, dear ? " 

" O, yes. But there are cities far away, 
Filled with delightful things we never see. 
I often think how glad my heart would be 
To live in one of them a little while." 

"My child," said Edith, with a sweet, sad 
smile 
" Though in your wish is nothing very strange, 
Your heart would not be gladdened by the 

change. 
Out in the world are falsehood and deceit ; 
There people grasp for gold, and, grasping, 

cheat 
Their dearest friends ; and aching hearts are 

there ; 
And wicked faces masks of goodness wear. 
The rich in mansions hold their heads in pride, 
The poor in want and misery abide. 
Murder is frequent ; so is suicide. 
The pureness of your soul would soon depart ; 
And you would likely break your mother's heart, 
By taking to yourself the loathsome sin 
And vices found amid the city's din " 

He drew a sigh and said : 

" If that is so 
Dear mamma, I will wish no more to go." 

" You would not wish it, could you only know 
What you would leave, how little gain," 
Replied the mother with a gasp of pain. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 55 

" A cramped-up house, hemmed in by hundreds 

more 
Which open almost at your very door ; 
A street, blocked up by teams, and men and 

boys — 
Would be the most among your city ]ojs ; 
And you would lose the cliffs, the beach, the 

sea; 
The sweet wild-bird songs, ringing glad and 

free ; 
The wilderness of flowers and perfumed air ; 
And health, perhaps, would not go with you 

there." 
" I could not give them up," the boy replied, 
" Not even, mamma, if I might decide 
To suit myself. So I am satisfied." 

" Look yonder ! " Edith said, as Allan ceased, 
" A heavy cloud is rising in the east, 
I fear that we will have a storm to-night." 

" But I love storms ! " the lad replying said ; 
And turned his gaze to where the crags o'erliead 
Were gathering the clouds that floated there 
And dropped their moisture down into the air; 
For even while he spoke, great rain-drops fell ; 
The waves beneath rose with a higher swell; 
And hollow winds came sighing o'er the sea, 
Each moment gaining more intensity. 

Then died away the brassy sunset glare, 
And intense darkness settled everywhere, 
Rent by the vivid lightning, showing plain 
Surrounding objects, drenched by beating rain. 

O, what a night ! The tempest wildly roared ; 
The thunder rattled, and the rain-drops poured 
In torrents, that rushed madly down to meet 
The waves that dashed so far beneath their feet. 
Then came a sound that made both faces pale ; 
For high above the wailing of the gale 



56 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Was heard the booming of a minute gun ! 

Instinctively the mother clasped her son, 
And wildly cried : 

" A vessel in distress ! 
No help in all this rocky wilderness ! 
What shall we do, my child ? What shall we 

do?" 
But she was powerless, as well she knew. 

Long hours the tempest raged ; long hours the 
gun 
Told of the direful work the storm had done, 
At length, the booming ceased ; the tempest 

stilled, 
And Heaven's vault with starry lamps was filled, 
Though yet the moaning waves dashed on the 

shore — 
God only knew what precious freight they bore ! 

A quick resolve by Edith Dare was made. 
Upon his couch, her sleeping child she laid; 
Then she awoke her aged serving-man, 
That he might help her carry out her plan 
Of giving aid to such as should survive — 
That the tempestous waves might landward 
drive. 

Her years beside the sea had not been lost. 
In sun and storm, the inlet she had crossed ; 
Had hunted each descent along the coast, 
And could almost a sailor's knowledge boast. 

The two together from the cottage went 
And made a rather perilous descent, 
Reaching a narrow wave-washed beach of sand, 
That gave their little boat a place to land, 
And kept it off the cruel rocks near by. 
But nothing of the ship could they descry. 
They could not see amid the gloom of night 
A sign of life, or single ray of light. 

Where was the ship that signaled its distress? 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 57 

Was none alive for them to save and bless ? 

But, even while she thought, the dark waves 
cast 
Landward a something that went dashing past. 
Some castaway, perhaps, that she might save. 
She hesitated not, for she was brave. 
Into the surf she sprang, grasped it, and found 
A baby to a life-preserver bound. 

The serving man, though old, was not afraid, 
And he went quickly to his mistress's aid. 
Some toil, some swimming, and both came to 

land. 
Upon the narrow beach of wave-washed sand, 
Beneath the rocks, below the " Eagle's Nest; " 
But Edith hel'd the child close to her breast. 

Limp and unconscious, drooped the baby head, 
Though faintly beat the heart ; it was not dead. 

She turned the tiny creature on its face, 
Beginning at that instant to retrace 
Her weary way, up to her own abode ; 
Although, at times she staowred neath her load. 
The baby, being fully two years old, 
Was large and rather cumbersome to hold. 

Her home was reached at last. At her desire, 
The woman had already made a fire. 
She, in its light, disrobed the icy form, 
Rubbing it gently that it might grow warm. 

She was rewarded ; for a glowing heat 
Spread over it from head to hands and feet. 

Two blue eyes slowly opened by and by ; 
Two pale lips parted with a gasping sigh ; 
And Edith knew the baby would not die. 

The dismal darkness of the night was gone 
And from the sea appeared a ruddy dawn. 

It might be that the daylight would disclose 
Some vestige of the ship, and trace of those 



58 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

Who vainly called throughout the night for aid. 

Alas ! her gentle heart was sore afraid 
That their last earthly voyage had been made. 

She left her charge and once more sallied out, 
All filled with doubting hope and hoping doubt. 

Across the water's waste, her glance she threw, 
And it, returning, sought a nearer view. 

Close to a rocky cliff she saw a wreck ; 
But all was silent ; not a soul on deck. 
Yet she discerned, when once again she tried, 
A something clinging to the vessel's side. 

No time to lose ! Into her boat she sprung. 
'Twas well that she was nimble, strong and 

young, 
And there at home ; else she were swamped 

among 
The breakers of that still tempestuous sea. 

But not a single thought of self had she. 

A nearer view disclosed a woman there, 
With shivering form and floating dark-brown 
hair. 

Then Edith urged her boat still faster on. 

Their glances met. It was Miss Treverton. 



TEE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 59 



CHAPTER II. 

Foe pity's sake, to stranger's aid we go 
With willing hands and with a cheerful heart ; 
When sympathy is needed for a foe, 
'Tis sometimes hard to do the better part ; 
And, for a moment, Edith Dare relaxed 
The efforts which had been so sorely taxed. 

" O, God ! " cried her rebellious heart, " why? 
why? 
Should it be mine to let her live or die?" 

An instant only, did she hesitate. 
She was above a petty act of hate ; 
(Ah, such an act had left her desolate.) 
And once again her strokes were firm and bold. 

Lucinda started — almost lost her hold, 
When Edith's face and figure came in view. 
How well that form, that golden hair she knew ! 
She almost thought that she could see her sneer, 
As with quick strokes the little boat came near. 

But o'er the waters rang a cheery tone, 
Tn answer to her heart's despairing moan ! 

" Hold fast, Lucinda ! Keep your hope 
And strength for just a few short moments 

more ! 
Now ; gently loose one hand and catch the 



rope 



! 



There ! — You are safe and soon will reach the 
shore." 
No moment of her short, eventful life 
Brought such a joy to that deserted wife, 
As when she saw Lucinda in the boat, 



60 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

And wrapped the shivering creature in her coat. 
And never such humiliation came 
As then Lucinda felt. Her face, in shame, 
She hid behind her hands. Her first wild 

thought 
Had been to die, as then she felt she ought, 
Rather than to accept her life from one 
Whose happiness by her had been undone. 
But life was sweet — sooner than give it up, 
She drank humiliation's bitter cup. 

" Are any more alive upon the vessel there? " 
In eager, kindly tones, asked Edith Dare. 
Lucinda looked up, blankly answering : 

"None! 

All gone ! — the captain, crew and every one ! " 

u But Ronald— Mr. Dean, was he lost too?" 

And such a gasping sigh as Edith drew! 

She had not breathed her husband's name for 

years, 
And it was wrung for her by direst fears. 

" Gone ! " was the answer with the same blank 
stare. 
" All gone ! " She ran her fingers through her 

hair, 
As though she had forgotten when or where. 

" There was a child on board ; but it is safe," 
Said Edith, thinking of the little waif. 
"Is it your child?" 

Lucinda shook her head. 
"Gone! All are gone!" in thrilling tones, 
she said. 
" The dark mad waters took them all, but me ! 
I hear them laughing way down in the sea ! 
Look! they are jealous that I have relief! " 
" Poor thing! " sighed Edith. " She is crazed 

with grief." 
The little boat went bravely to the shore, 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 61 

And soon deposited the freight it bore. 

But poor Lucinda's strength had given way, 
As had her mind. Her feet would not obey 
Her will to climb up to the Eagle's Nest. 
And so to carry her, it was thought best ; 
But this required both the servants' aid, 
And, even then, small progress could be made, 
For it was not an easy task to do. 
The path was steep and very narrow, too, 
And oft necessitated them to rest. 

What tried her kind preserver all the more 
Was that she ceased to sense she was on shore, 
But clasped her arms about the other's neck, 
Imagining herself upon the wreck, 
Begging and praying that she might not die, 
And wildly uttering cry after cry. 

Before they reached the Eagle's Nest retreat, 
Her blood was burning with a fever heat ; 
And when she was undressed and put to bed, 
'Twas with wide-open eyes and cheeks deep red. 
Still realizing nothing done or said. 
Her thoughts were far away. Her busy brain 
Was conjuring views of things long past — 
From childhood's hours up to the fatal blast, 
Moaning the while in agony of pain. 

No longer undisturbed was Edith Dare. 
A doctor's presence was required there, 
And nurse's, too, — the patient must have care. 

The rescued child — it was a girl — could walk, 
And in her baby way began to talk 
As soon as she was fairly on her feet — 
A lovely infant, fair, and pure, and sweet. 
Whose child was she ? Edith was fain to know. 
Perhaps the little creature's clothes would show. 
And sure enough a mark was to be seen : 
'■ Ruby" — that was the only name they bore; 
But on a white silk handkerchief, she wore 



62 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

About her neck, was written, " Ronald Dean." 
His child !— and hers, who was so very ill, 
While he, in ocean depths, was cold and still ! 
The ones that he had loved, to her were sent 
To be, perhaps, a life-long punishment; 
For they were friendless — cast upon her care, 
And pity urged that she should keep them there. 
Alas ! O G-od ! the cross was hard to bear ! 

Again rebellious grew her heart, and she 
Turned from the child half angrily. 
Had he been true, a babe like that might be 
Her own. A sweet young daughter — only one 
She wished, for a companion to her son. 

And now the much-desired companion came — 
His sister, claimant to his father's name ; 
Yet not her own — instead, a child of shame. 
Yes, shame ! Not even wedlock could remove 

the blame 
And blot which by the parents had been wrought. 

" Besides he has not righted her ! " she 
thought. 

" Her fevered ravings so far fail to show 
Aught but the deepest of remorse and woe." 

" Brain-fever," so the all-wise doctor said, 
And ominously shook his aged head 
Above Lucinda, raving in her bed. 

She lived her love-life over — all the hours 
When she and Ronald plucked the summer 

flow'rs 
And hunted berries in the meadow grass ! 
Hours filled with happiness, all gone, ahis ! 
Her love for him, her jealousy, despair ; 
The hopeless struggle that she made to bear 
Her cross; her error and repentance, too, 
Passed like a vivid panoramic view 
Before her eyes ; and Edith heard and wept 
While she, beside the bed, a vigil kept. 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 63 

She locked her secret in her breast. None 

knew 
Whence poor Lucinda came, or even who 
She was. The bit of wreck did not disclose 
The vessel's name, and nothing told of those 
Who had set sail upon it. Not a trace 
Of that doomed vessel's starting-place 
Had even she. Nor had she heard or seen 
Aught, since the day he left, of Ronald Dean ; 
And little did Lucinda's ravings tell. 
But all were known, perhaps, when she were 

well ; 
If she should die, 'twere better none should 

know 
Of her identity, or sin, or woe. 

The crisis came. Lucinda did not die. 
The angel Death once more had passed her by. 
Her life was saved, but memory was gone, 
And to her came no ray of reason's dawn. 
Like as a child, obedient and kind 
She was, and reasoned with an infant's mind. 
She had forgot her friends and her own name, 
Her parentage, and how and whence she came. 
She wandered with the children, and each day 
She spent in baby prattle and in play, 
Learning, and saying what they had to say. 
Whene'er she mentioned gentle Edith Dare, 
She said " the angel with the golden hair" 
And called her nothing else. It was not strange, 
That Edith Dare's resentment knew a change, 
Melting away to patient tenderness. 
Nor to the baby did she offer less. 
For Ruby was a darling little child, 
Happy and laughing, never rough or wild, 
Who clung so lovingly to Edith Dare, 
That her sweet life was not without a share 
Of Allan's mother's love and watchful care. 



64 THE SIN OF EDITH BE A N. 

To send her charges to the Brighton farm, 
Was sometimes Edith's thought ; but then the 

harm, 
That they would take to that sweet lady there, 
Caused her to pause, and pausing, to forbear. 
" Poor Ronald loved them," to herself she 

said, 
Thinking with tear-filled eyes, and low-bowed 

head, 
" And if he can, in spirit-life, but see 
What I have done, perhaps, he smiles on me ! " 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 65 



CHAPTER III. 

No further need had Edith Dare to hide 
Herself from the great world that moved outside 
The precincts of her own sweet dwelling-place. 
Indeed of her, her friends had lost all trace ; 
And though she kept her maiden name of Dare, 
The children, unrestrained, went here and there, 
Flitting about like wild-birds, glad and free. 
They climbed the cliPfs ; they sailed upon the sea ; 
And when they older grew, they wandered down 
The rocky road, and took their way to town, 
On pleasant Sabbaths and on market days, 
Where something new was sure to meet their 

gaze. 
In fact, they roamed the country, far and near. 
And what delightful, happy days those were ! 
No rock, or tree, or path but what they knew; 
They watched the many flowers while they grew ; 
They saw the birds hatched in each cosy nest, 
And named the ones the mothers loved the best; 
They picked up shells, and they explored the 

caves ; 
They, laughing, ran to meet the crested waves 
Which broke upon the narrow beach of sand ; 
And sailed almost beyond the sight of land ; 
On Sundays, sought a village church to kneel 
And listen to the organ's solemn peal, 
The prayer and reading of the sacred Word, 
That in each breast, its noblest impulse stirred. 
They liked so much to see the village fairs, 
And view the merchants' many kind of wares. 

5 



66 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Nor least among their pleasures were their lesson 

hours, 
Or mornings, when they worked among the 

flow'rs 
That beautified the garden of their home ; 
For though kind Edith gave them time to roam 
All undisturbed, she set them tasks to do 
As well ; nor let them leave until she knew 
Those tasks were done. Then, when the sable 

pall 
Of night had been upon the earth let fall, 
All gathered in the cosy sitting-room, 
Whose light and melody dispersed the gloom, 
They singing, while the sweet guitar was played 
By either Edith or the little maid ; 
Or else some book of interest was read. 
But always, ere the children went to bed, 
They knelt them down at Edith's knees and 

prayed ; 
And often poor Lucinda also came, 
With low-bowed head, and did the same. 

So passed away the happy years between 
That long-remembered and eventful day. 
When Edith saved the baby castaway, 
And the bright girlhood hours of Ruby Dean. 

As happy as a lark, sweet as a rose, 
With ever thoughtful tenderness and care, 
She lived — a sunbeam in the home of those 
Who rescued her from death and brought her 
'there. 

Her birth had been forgiven by Edith Dare. 
She did not dream she was Lucinda's child, 
For poor Lucinda always shook her head and 

smiled 
In such an absent way, if reference 
To little Ruby as her child was made ; 
And never once would own the baby, hence 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 67 

No stress upon her motherhood was laid, 

So Ruby knew that, from the sea she came. 
And that her baby clothes disclosed her name ; 
But nothing more. For Edith never told 
The wrong she had endured in days of old. 

Their little world outside, still looked upon 
The harmless lunatic as being one 
Crazed by that frightful night upon the sea, 
Lost to her friends, her very name unknown. 
Therefore the gossips let her quite alone. 
In fact, so far removed from them was she, 
So hard of access, was her dwelling-place, 
Few knew her, although meeting face to face. 

Nor all unhappy was the life of Edith Dare, 
Amid her round of watchfulness and care. 
For oh ! the light of happiness can bless 
Naught but a life of pure unselfishness ! 
And where she thought to find a pain, came 

peace ; 
And in her noble acts obtained release 
From the remorse that followed on her sin. 
Before she knew it, she found comfort in 
The tasks that she had set herself to do ; 
And life for her took on a brighter hue. 

Sometimes vexations came, and then she said: 

" He loved them ; and since he is with the dead, 
I loved him not, if I would let them live 
Without the tender care that he would give." 

But though the child grew up with health and 
strength, 
A human rosebud bursting into bloom, 
Lucinda faded daily, till at length 
She seemed to lack the will to leave her room. 
She oftentimes refused to quit her bed, 
Complaining of a dizziness of head, 
Yet seldom spoke of feeling any pain. 

So finding that all efforts were in vain 



68 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

To woo her out into the sun and air, 
Edith bestowed on her a larger share 
Of time and thought, and tender, patient care. 

Meanwhile, with every journey of the sun, 
Her Allan grew ; and he was twenty-one, 
Upon a hazy, sweet September morn, 
Not much unlike the day when he was born. 

That morn, she with a loving pressure drew 
Hiin to her breast, and bright her blue eyes grew. 

" You were indeed a precious gift to me, 
My consolation, and my joy and pride." 
In accents fond and tender, whispered she. 

He laughing said : 

" I have not left your side, 
Sweet mamma mine, as boys are apt to do ; 
And so a birthday gift, I ask of you." 

And she replied: 

" Ask what you will, my son ; 
It shall be yours, can it be had or done." 

" Ah ! that is easy said, for you have seen 
Since I have been for years her worshipper, 
That the one gift I crave is Ruby Dean." 

She staggered backward with a paling face, 
From which that instant fled joy's faintest trace, 
And answered sharply : 

" Anything but her ! 
Blind fool ! I did not dream that, more than 

brother 
And sister, you and Ruby loved each other ; 
Else I had put the ocean 'twixt you two ! " 

" My mother," and the young man proudly 
drew 
Himself erect. " That does not sound like you. 
Your life has ever been so pure and true, 
I did not think that you would cast a blame 
On her, because a waif to us she came." 
Indeed, I doubt not if the truth were known, 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. , 69 

She holds a rank quite equal to our own." 

" Alas ! " said Edith, " that my son should 
think 
His mother's soul into such depths could sink ! 
Deeper, far deeper is the gulf between 
My son and poor ill-fated Ruby Dean. 

" O, Allan, have I not been always kind? 
And in my fond devotion blind 
To all your faults ? Has not your happiness 
Been my first thought throughout my life ? 
My love for Ruby, too, is scarcely less. 
Would I refuse to let you make her wife, 
Think you, for such a trivial cause ? 
I grieve that such a marriage cannot be. 
Her parentage is not unknown to me, — 
You may not wed her — 'tis against our laws. 

" Ask me no more. Believe me when I say 
The gulf that parts you must remain for aye. 
No one can bridge it. Then seek not to share 
The wretched secret that I have to bear ! " 

" Dear mother, words like those would drive 
me mad ! 
If any weighty sorrow you have had, 
Or, as your words lead me to fear, a shame, 
It is my place to share and have the same." 

A thought of Ronald's letter to her came. 
It was his wish, the boy sometime should know ' 
The father's love and shame, the mother's woe. 

The time had come. She turned with faltering 
feet, 
Toward her desk, and took the faded sheet — 
The cruel letter of the long ago 
Therefrom ; then slowly reached it to her son. 

" Your father wrote it ; 'twas the only one 
He ever sent to me, and he is dead, 
But it will tell you all," she simply said. 

Then silence fell while he in wonder read. 



70 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

His features, ere the task was finished, wore 
A look of sad perplexity and doubt. 

" Explain," he said. " I do not make it out. 
The mystery is greater than before. 
You say he is my father — that would mean 
That mine instead of Ruby's name is Dean." 

" The handkerchief that Ruby wore, you know, 
Had Ronald Dean marked on it." 

" That is so," 
Said Allan, and his tones were sad and low. 

" The woman sick in yonder room, is she 
Who took your father, dear, from yon and me." 

" And you have kept and waited on her, here 
In loving tenderness, this many a year?" 
Exclaimed the youth. " What sort of woman 
Are you ? The act is more than human." 

'• He was her lover first, my darling son. 
They quarrelled. I, his name and fortune, won. 
I loved him madly — loving, stooped to sin, 
And took from her what was not mine to win. 
It is a long, sad story. Of his heart, 
He never gave to me the smallest part. 
At last, by chance, he met her, and they fled — 
He told it by the letter you have read. 

" I had my baby. I resolved to share 
His love with none. I took the name of Dare — 
My own, my father's — a most honored name ; 
.Bought the dear 'Eagle's Nest,' and here we 
came. 

" That fatal storm you must remember well. 
All perished — so I heard Lucinda tell. 
I could have let her die. God knows the thought 
Came to my mind. But better ones were brought 
By the next moment. I had saved their child — 
I saved the mother, too; and Heaven smiled 
Upon my deed of mercy. But, Ruby, dear, 
The secret of her birth must never hear. 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 71 

She is your little sister — treat her so." 

But Allan's sunny head was drooping low, 
And he was cringing 'neath the heavy blow — 
The very first that had been his to feel. 

His mother saw the tear-drop slowly steal 
From his closed eyes; and felt that yet 
Her sin pursued her. Ah ! vain was regret ! 
Vain all her acts atoning for that sin ! 
The angel Peace was not for her to win. 

"One thinor alone remains for me to do," 
He said anon in broken tones. " From you 
And Ruby I must go, until a time 
When I can calmly look on father's crime — 
Till I shall love poor Ruby less than now." 

"Alas!" cried Edith, " How, oh! how 
Am I to live with my one treasure gone ? 
Far sooner I will send Miss Treverton 
And her child, Ruby, too, out of our home, 
Than that my son should be obliged to roam 
Afar from me ! Or, if that is not best 
Then they may take as theirs the ' Eagle's Nest! ' 
From you, I cannot, will not live apart. 
The very thought brings anguish to my heart! 
My first great d uty is to guard my son ; 
And, God forgive me, if I have not done 
What I should do for those two castaways ! " 

'• Your acts," he said, "elicit naught but praise, 
And in my heart I cannot ask for more 
Self-sacrifice. No martyr ever wore 
A crown of sharper thorns. Yet I implore 
That you will not leave Ruby all alone. 
She is so young, and she has nothing known 
Of any world outside the one we own 
Our ' Eagle's Nest. ' " 

" I have a thought in mind," 
The mother answered, and her tone was kind. 
" I might send Ruby off to boarding-school. 



72 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Rich people make a custom and a rule 

Of finishing a daughter's learning so. 

The prospect would delight the child, I know ; 

And thus she might be spared a bitter blow ; 

For time and absence would work out the rest." 

" The very thing," cried Allan, and he pressed 
His faithful mother closely to his breast. 

" Meanwhile, unless Lucinda should grow 
worse," 
Continued Edith, " I will hire a nurse, 
To care for her; and you and I, my son, 
Will go abroad, and thus, perhaps, your peace be 

won. 
For time and travel, ages since, have wrought 
A change in human love and human thought." 

The land beyond! It matters not how fair 
Our dwelling place, we deem that over there 
A fairer one is waiting for our feet. 
So Ruby Dean, although her life was sweet, 
Heard of the prospect of a year of change 
With eager joy that Allan thought was strange 
In one so fond of home as she had seemed. 

Alas ! poor Ruby Dean ! She never dreamed 
That she was sent that they might be apart ; 
Else she had gone away with broken heart. 

Instead, she dropped a single happy tear 
At parting ; saying : 

" Only for a year ! 
I shall return so wise and so improved, 
That I shall be, still more than now, beloved." 

Happy and hopeful was the maiden's tone ; 
But Allan answered with a smothered moan. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN- 73 



CHAPTER IV. 

Lucinda weaker grew with every hour. 
She faded slowly, even as a ilower 
That hangs long on the stem, and fades and dies 
One petal at a time. Her matchless eyes 
Remained undimmed ; but shorter grew her 

breath, 
And her wan face took on the hue of death. 

She had seen Ruby leave without demur; 
For dearer far to Edith than to her 
The rescued castaway had ever been. 

"Perhaps," thought Edith, " she does not 
forget, 
Entirely, her misery and sin ; 
And sight of Ruby causes her regret. 
1 know if her sad error had been mine 
That I should wish to die 'and make no sign.'" 

They saw Lucinda fading day by day, 
And it necessitated a delay 
Of Edith's journey with her darling son. 

Knowing Lucinda's race was almost run, 
Too kind was Edith's heart for her to leave, 
The crazed and dying woman to receive 
The care of those who recked not of her woe, 
And that her life was ebbing, sure though slow. 

So Edith said : 

" 'Twill not be long, my son ; 
And, knowing that our duty has been done, 
E'en though we made that duty, we will go 
With far more cheerful hearts, than we would 

know 
If we should leave her here to die alone." 



74 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

" My darling mother — mine, my very own ! " 
Exclaimed the youth, " Since Ruby is away, 
Not in the least I murmur at delay. 
Were I to suit myself, here I would stay, 
To rove the paths that she and I have roved 
And tend the flowers she and I have loved. 
But since our love must perish — 'tis but right 
That those reminders were put out of sight ; 
And your high sense of duty makes me strong 
To do my duty and to flee the wrong. 

" I feel for her, who early lost her way, 
And from the ' Fold ' has been so long astray. 
I would not leave her as she is to-day. 
But I am not as good and true as you. 
I ne'er had thought the task was mine to do. 
I, loving Ruby, only tolerate 
One whom I otherwise would scorn and hate. 
Yet you, my mother, had the strength to save, 
And care for her down to the very grave, 
Urged on by nothing but your own pure heart 
And your desire to do a Christian's part." 

" You credit me too much ; " and Edith smiled. 
" It was because I loved your father, child. 
Perhaps I should have cared for them the same 
Had I not known her history and name, 
For I am tender-hearted to distress ; 
But, knowing, had I loved your father less, 
I doubt if I had had the strength to do 
That which for doing, you have called me true 
And noble-hearted ; yet, my dear, in you, 
Who love poor Ruby, it is plain to see, 
Is the same impulse that inspired me." 



That eve, the sun went down with brassy glare 
That threw a burnished gilding everywhere ; 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 75 

And Edith said again, as once before, 
Her glances wandering from sea to shore, 
Her face all ruddy in the sunset light : 

" The signs foretell a frightful storm to-night. 
Remember you, how fourteen years ago, 
We watched an autumn tempest rising so ? 
We have seen many since that time, but then 
I felt a sad foreboding, that again 
I feel. My son, I somehow have the fear 
That death may even now be waiting near." 

" O, you are only nervous, mamma, dear. 
An equinoctial gale comes every year, 
Yet 'tis not often ships are driven here." 

His voice was hushed, for, even then, the gale 
Came, heralded by naught except a wail 
Of moaning winds among the crags o'erhead ; 
And Edith Dare, filled with a direful dread, 
Closed up the house and sought Lucinda's bed, 
Knowing full well that such a fiightful storm 
Would bring a terror to the shrinking form 
And weakened mind. All storms had such effect. 
Awakened memories of that which wrecked 
Herself and those she loved were sometimes 

shown 
Amid the thunder's rattle and the moan 
Of tempest winds, and vivid lightning gleams ; 
Though they were ever fleeting as are dreams. 
Sometimes, a few brief sentences, she spoke, 
Of sense. But all connection quickly broke, 
And she was wandering once more in night, 
Still darker for the transient ray of light. 

That time, Lucinda clung to Edith's neck, 
Imagining that she was on the wreck, 
Amid the storm of fourteen years before ; 
And, while she trembled at the thunder's roar, 
Within her eyes a gleam of reason shone. 

At first she seemed, for quite a while, to be 



76 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

Again upon that fated ship and sea, 
Talking: to some one in a cheerful tone ; 

" Do not be frightened, dearest Mrs. May. 
The storm, though fearful, soon will pass away. 
Besides I just now heard the captain say 
The ship is staunch and we need have no fear, 

* * There, try to rest. I'll tend the baby, 

dear. 
I'll tie a handkerchief about her neck 
And we will take a little peep on deck, 
The good old captain will not tell us nay ! 

* * A moment only we will be away. 

* * O God ! what a terrific crash — that 

last! 
I know it was the breaking of a mast * * * 
The worst has come — the very worst, I know. 

* * I cannot, will not, captain, stay below ! 
O, death is here ! His icy touch I feel, 

And we are lost ! O God ! yes, every one ! " 

She shrieked aloud. The booming of a gun 
Had caused her dream of anguish to be real. 

It also told a ship was in distress. 

Young Allan Dare, whose courage was not 
less 
Than Edith's once had been, sprang up in haste. 

" Come Gerald, quick ! we have no time to 
waste. 
We know the coast so well that we can steer 
And bring that vessel to a harbor here 
Within the inlet's mouth, unless a leak 
She is; in which case we must seek 
To save her precious freight of human lives, 
To send back to their mothers and their wives." 

The two old people long had been replaced 
By servants stronger-limbed and younger-faced ; 
And Gerald's boat could float upon the sea, 
It mattered not how rough the waves might be. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 77 

Again the gun was heard. With paling face, 
The mother clasped her son in fond embrace. 
" If you are lost, God help me ! " murmured 

she. 
w ' I am your son ! " quite proudly answered 

he. 
" Two men like us, who both are young and 
strong, 
Should row a boat your hands could send along. 
Good-bye, my mother. Keep up heart, and pray 
Our Father's love to guide us while away." 
One kiss, and he was gone — her darling son ! 
Ah ! there it was again — the minute gun ! 
" My God ! will no one come to give us aid ! " 
Lucinda screamed. " Is every one afraid 
Of those dark bitter waters ! * * O, how 
cold ! 

* * Alas ! dear Ronald never will be told 
How his Lucinda died ! * * * Poor Mrs 

May! 
Drowned in her berth, where weak and ill she 
lay! 

* * I can not save the child, but it shall 

take 
My last and only chance, for her dear sake ! 

* * * Go, little one ! you can at worst but 

die. 
Soon we shall meet again — you, dear, and I. 

* * * The boats, the men, have disappeared 

from view ! 
My ! how the wreck careens ! * * I must 

go, too ! 
Cold * * cold as death, those waves ! And 

all are gone ! 

* * Great God, be thanked, for yonder is 

the dawn ! 



78 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN^ 

" If I can cling yet longer, help may come. 
But, oh ! my fingers are so tired and numb, 

* * * Ah ! yonder comes a boat! a woman, 
too! 
How beautiful she is ! How good and true 
She must be, thus to brave the stormy sea — 
Nobly to risk her life in saving me ! 
It must be me, she sees ! Yes, I am seen ! 
.Saved ! saved ! * * God pity me, by Edith 
Dean ! " 

The name was uttered with a piercing shriek, 
As backward drooped her head. She then, so 

weak 
And so exhausted, on her pillow lay 
That life, for her, seemed ebbing fast away. 

Fearing she might annoy the sufferer, 
Edith withdrew quite quietly from her, 
And stood obscured from view amid the gloom 
That reigned in one dark corner of the room. 

Some moments passed, for her, in silent dread, 
And then Lucinda rationally said : 

" Yes, I remember now. 'Tis like a dream ! 
But near me, ever since, has been the gleam 
Of golden hair ! A voice, sweet and low, 
Has sought to cheer me ! It is hers, I know. 
She is an angel, and I wronged her so ! 

" The child — the dear, sweet girl they sent 
away 
To boarding school, is little Ruby May ! 
The youth is son to gentle Edith Dean ! 
But where is Ronald ! — him I have not seen 
And Ruby May is grown ! Then many a year 
Have we been kept by her, and caved for here ! 

" Sweet Edith ! Heavenly Father, hear my 
cry— 
Help me to right her wrong before I die ! " 

Again she was exhausted. 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 79 

Edith came 
With soft steps to her side, and breathed her 
name. 

"Lucinda, my poor friend," she gently said, 
" Him, we both madly loved, and he is dead. 
You wronged me, true ; but then I wronged you 

first, 
And both of us, dear soul, have been sin-cursed. 
Sisters in sin and woe we two have been, 
I trust we have atoned for all our sin. 
Sisters in love, henceforward, let us be ! " 

" Alas ! " Lucinda made reply, " for me 
It is too late. Before another day 
I shall have passed from earth away. 
But you may tell our little Ruby May, 
That though her mother to her deatli has gone 
Her father may be found in Wilmington, 
If he is living still. His name is John — 
John May. His wife was ill and weak, and she 
Was sent to take a voyage on the sea. 
I was her friend and bore her company." 

" Great God be thanked that she is not your 
own," 
Cried Edith, "and need not your sin atone! 
But all these years, poor child, I thought her so. 

" My son grew fond of her. He did not 
know 
Until quite recently, his father's name, 
Or that the girl's was thought to be the same. 
But when he did, he saw that they must part. 

" She went away from us with cheerful heart, 
Because she had been spared the bitter blow, 
That drooped my Allan's sunny head so low. 

" Great God be praised, they may be happy 
now, 
And he may honestly redeem his vow ! " 

Her sweet, pure face was thankfully uplifted ; 



80 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

And even while she spoke the storm-cloud rifted, 
Disclosing there the moon, whose rays were 

shed 
In loving benediction on her head. 

A moment passed, and then Lucinda said: 
" You spoke of Ronald Dean as being dead — 
Do you know how, and when, and where he 

died?" 
" That you should answer," Edith Dare re- 
plied ; 
"^Except a letter written on that day, 
I have heard nothing since he went away. 
But I supposed he perished in that storm." 
A thrill of joy ran through Lucinda's form. 
" Ah ! then perhaps he lives ! " she faintly 

cried. 
" If so, my prayer to God is not denied ! 
For you the right to happiness have won. 
I left him at the Mays, in Wilmington, 
Where I expected soon to be again ; 
And he was handsome, strong and healthful 

then." 
The golden head drooped low, and Edith 

pressed, 
Convulsively, her right hand to her breast. 
It would be difficult to analyze 
Her thoughts. When those we loved are dead, 

we prize 
The good that they possessed. The evil dies 
Out of our memories. He long had been 
A saint to Edith, who forgot his sin, 
And everything except she loved him. Now, 
The falling robes revealed a broken vow. 
Before her was his victim, whose sad life 
Was well-nigh spent;. more wretched than the 

wife 
Who had, unloved, forsaken home and name 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 81 

To hide herself and child from his dark shame. 

"Lueinda," Edith's tone was sharp and quick; 
For one brief moment she forgot how sick 
The other was ; " plan not for me, I pray. 
I died — yes, died when Ronald went away! 
We may clasp hands upon the other shore; 
But in this life, Lueinda, never more ! 
Forgive me, dear one, I would pain you not. 
Yours, after all, has been the harder lot; 
For you were sweet and loving, kind and true — 
It was my sin, O God ! that ruined you ! 

"Lueinda, care nor comfort shall you lack; 
Get well, poor girl, and let me send you back 
To him who loves yon. Years, he has been frje ; 
And you will not be taking him from me. 
To see your wrong once righted — you his wife — 
I would most willingly lay down my life ! " 

Lueinda answered : 

" Nay, my angel friend, 
I cannot go. I am so nigh my end 
That you could count the minutes and not tire. 
Therefore, to right your wrong is my desire. 
Indeed, though grievous Ronald's fault has been, 
Not his alone was that life-wrecking sin. 
Remember it, if e'er you chance to meet." 

" My dear," and Edith's tone was kind and 
sweet, 
" 'Tis long since either saw him. It may be 
That he has quite forgotten you and me. 
Perhaps has wooed another. 'Twere not strange 
To happen in this fickle world of change. 
But in our bosom still the wounds are sore 
So let us talk and think of him no more. 

" See ! now the storm is over ! up on high, 
The placid moon i-; riding in the sky ! 
N<> longer do we hear the minute-gun. 
The hour is late — yes, it is nearly one. 
6 



82 THE SIN OF EDITH DEA N. 

My child — my only one, may even now 
Be food for fishes ! So I pray allow 
Me just a few short minutes. I will run 
Down to the boat and learn what has been done •, 
I will awake the housemaid. She shall stay 
With you ; and I will not be long away." 

Then Edith pressed Lucinda's finger-tips, 
And to the icy forehead touched her lips. 

A moment later she was gone from sight, 
Out in the wet and shadows of the night. 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 83 



CHAPTER V. 

Three men carne toiling up the cliffs, and two 
Of them the anxious woman full well knew. 
Foremost, and eagerest, was Allan Dare, 
Who soon espied his mother standing there, 
Upon a rock that overlooked the sea. 

It needed but a few quick bounds to be 
Beside her, holding her close to his breast, 

"Our labor, mother, has been richly blessed," 
He said. " The ship had lost her reckoning, 
And it was only needed we should bring 
Her to a harbor in our inlet here. 
She passed the ugly rocks, quite safe and clear; 
None lost, and very little damage done. 
She now awaits the rising of the sun, 
To ascertain how much, and, if she may, 
Put out to sea again, without delay." 

" Thank God that all are safe ! " the mother 
cried. 
My life were wrecked, indeed, if you had died ! 

" But whom have you brought hither ? " she 
inquired. 

" A passenger, my mamma, who desired 
To see his home, who came to the relief 
Of that poor ship already brought to grief. 
His name I know not, but 'tis easy seen 
He is a gentleman ; and wealthy, too, I ween. 
Nor seems he like a stranger — " 

But just then 
The rock was reached by those two other men. 

There was a startled cry ; for once again 



84 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Edith stood face to face with Ronald Dean. 

Yet from her eyes flashed forth a look of joy. 

"Thank God!" she cried, " you've saved your 
father, boy ! " 

But Allan Dare drew back with haughty 
mien, 
And arms close-folded to his throbbing breast. 

" This, then," he said, in measured tones, 
" is he 
Who years agone deserted you and me 
For that mad woman at the Eagle's Nest ; 
And I have saved his false and worthless life ! " 

His teeth were set with bitter inward strife. 

But Ronald Dean spoke not. He looked 
about 
In dumb surprise, and seemed the facts to doubt, 
Unheeding Allan's most unfilial sneer. 

Then Edith spoke : 

" He is your father, dear ; 
And He who ruleth, best can judge between 
The son of Edith Dare and Ronald Dean. 
Besides, my boy, as your invited guest, 
He must be welcomed at our ' Eagle's Nest.' " 

And then to Ronald, in low tones, she said : 

' She that you loved — Lucinda — is not dead. 
I saved her from a wreck, and she is here. 
So dreadful was her fright, she went insane; 
And till to-night, we questioned her in vain 
Concerning those who loved and cared for her. 
That you were dead — she led me to infer," 

"My child ! Lucinda ! Edith ! — all so near ! " 
Gasped the bewildered man. " Am I alive ? " 

" O, yes, dear father, you still live and thrive," 
Young Allan said. " You may be somewhat 

loth 
To own us, since myself and Ruby, both 
Are here ; but mother shielded her from blame, 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. G5 

By giving her, not me, your honored name." 

Here Edith quickly interrupted. 

"Nay, 
Lucinda told me since you went away 
To-night, our darling's name is Ruby May. 
She bears no kinship to a Dean or Dare, 
And in the sin oi either has no share." 

'Tis often said that joy doth never kill ; 
But down dropped Allan, breathless, white and 

still. 
The woeful sorrow lifted, he grew weak, 
And for a moment could not stand or speak — 

A moment only. Then he was himself once 
more. 
And what a joyous light his features wore 
As to his feet he sprung. 

" Then I forgive," 
He cried, "and thank God, father, that you 
live ! " 

" Alas ! " said Ronald, " that it is my lot 
Always to seem to be what I am not ! 
Lucinda, whom I lost so long ago, 
Was always pure as is the falling snow. 
For though she fled from home and friends with 

me, 
I claimed her not till law had set me free 
To offer her an honest love and life. 
As sister did I guard her, till as wife 
She came into my arms. No love like mine 
E'er casts a worshipped idol from its shrine 
To be down-trodden in pollution's mire. 
Pure love can always crush unchaste desire. 
I loved Lucinda — that protected her." 

Then Edith said, her gentle soul astir 
With thankfulness and joy : 

" I, too, forgive 
And praise the One who ruleth that you live!— 



86 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Praise God that I have saved and sheltered 

here, 
Through joy and sorrow for this many a year, 
A woman who inspired so pure a love ! 

" See ! yonder is the ' Eagle's Nest,' above 
Yon crag! Luciuda, crazed since that sad night 
That wrecked her, lives once more in reason's 

light. 
But she is ill, and we must not delay, 
Already I have been too long away." 

She started ere the words had quit her tongue ; 
And nimbly up, from rock to rock, she sprung, 
Leaving her son as escort to the guest. 

At last, sweet peace was reigning in her 

breast. 
Her sin had been atoned, the wrong repaired. 
Henceforth, from all remorse, she would be 
spared. 
The house was reached, and down beside the 
bed 
She kneeled; and joyful were the words she 
said : 
Live, dear Lucinda Dean ! The ship is clear 
Of rocks ; and it is anchored safely near ; 
And Ronald — your dear Ronald Dean is here ! " 
" My prayer is heard ! " the other whispered 
low 
" I begged our Father that it might be so ! " 



THE SIN- OF EDITH DEAN. 87 



CHAPTER VI. 

" LuciNDA, dear, it cannot, must not be ! 
To lose you, now you have returned to rne 
Is cruel ! All the bitter agony 
Of separation to be lived again ! 
And this is worse than was the other. Then 
Hope staid to comfort me, and left me not 
Till I became accustomed to my lot. 

" That you are very weak and ill, I know, 
But I will not believe you are so low 
That love can fail to woo you back to life, 
And to my arms, my own, my precious wife ! " 

'Twas Ronald Dean who spoke, as with bowed 
head, 
He kneeled in anguish by Lucihda's bed. 

" See, Ronald," she replied, " the night is gone, 
And in the east appears the golden dawn ! 
But when the sun-rays gleam upon the sea, 
My poor sin-fettered spirit will be free. 
My time is short, so listen, love, to me. 

"It was not right to go as we two went ; 
And Heaven sent a bitter punishment — 
Yes, parted us as if we two were dead, 
And not a ray on either's pathway shed ! 

" Ah ! but for Edith, I long since had died, 
And you had never more knelt by my side. 
She is a pure, white angel ! O, the pain 
Of death is naught unless it be in vain 
To right her! When your wound is healed, 

return 
To her, who never yet has ceased to yearn 



88 THE SIN OF EDim BEAN. 

For you; — whose soul for me with pity moved, 
Because I was by you, dear one, beloved. 

" The light increases ! Soon I go away 
From earthly darkness to Eternal day ! 
I would see Edith just one moment more." 

Then Ronald, sobbing, rose, and at the door 
Called for the woman with the golden hair. 

White-robed she came, her face as sweet and 
fair 
As any saint's, and kneeled in silent prayer, 
Resting her head near his upon the bed. 

In a low, whispered tone, Lucinda said : 

"I want to feel your hand, and Ronald's, too, 
The way is dark ! O, help to lead me through 
To where the light is gleaming on yon shore, 
Where I shall be at peace forevermore ! " 

She raised herself. The reaching hands she 
drew 
Close to her icy lips; then clasped the pair 
Together ; for a moment held them there ; 
She next essa) r ed to speak, but made no sound. 

Both saw that she was dying. With a bound, 
Ronald sprang up and caught her sinking form. 

Just then, across the ocean gleamed the sun, 
As bright as though the world had known no 
storm. 

Lucinda's day Eternal had begun. 

***** 
Upon the earth another morning shone, 
And Ronald Dean was leaving — not alone, 
The " Eagle's Nest." A casket hid from view 
His darling, whose remains were going, too. 

His heart was heavy and his eyes were dim 
With weeping; yet his soul was strangely 

moved 
With tenderness whene'er he looked at her, 
Who years had been a patient sufferer, 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 89 

Atoning for the sin of loving him — 

For now he knew her worthy to be loved. 

They stood a moment, bending o'er the dead, 
Before they parted. Ronald, weeping, said: 

" Lucinda was her father's pet and pride, 
And I shall see she rests close by his side. 
The world must know that pure she lived and 

died. 
On such a mission do I go away. 

" There are some things that I forgot to say, 
Amid the joy and woe of yesterday.. 

" Poor Ruby's father died three years ago. 
She has no living relative, I know, 
Except a cousin who inherited 
Her father's fortune in her stead. 
Tlie only one to prove her rights is dead." 

" It matters not, since Ruby is to wed 
Our Allan," Edith said, "some time next year. 
But he and I, meanwhile, will go from here. 
A trip across the sea will show our boy 
Whether his love is pure or an alloy." 

" And to his wedding may his father come?" 
Asked Ronald Dean, and looked at her, a numb 
Cold desolation tugging at his breast. 

She answered softly, 

" At the ' Eagle's Nest ' 
My Allan's father is a welcome guest, 
Whene'er he deigns a visit to his son. 
Farewell ! " 

She turned away. She could not brook 
To give her love a single backward look. 
Although a full atonement had been done 
For all her sin, and consolation won, 
She could not quite suppress at will 
The yearning soul that made a struggle still — 
That o'er the yawning gulf which hvy between, 
Reached out its longing arms to Ronald Dean. 



90 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 



CHAPTER VII. 

A ruddy sun was glowing in the west. 
An autumn haze hung o'er the "Eagle's Nest." 
The trees were in their matchless robes of gold 
And crimson, for the weather had been cold. 
A biting frost, with flurried flakes of snow, 
And keen north-wind had laid the flowers low. 

But summer had returned for one brief day, 
With fair, sunshiny face and breath like May, 
To say " good-bye," before she went away 
On her long journey south, whose winter gloom 
Would soon be dissipated by her bloom. 

The house was open to the sun and air ; 
And, flitting in and out, a maiden, fair, 
Blue-eyed and beautiful, was working there, 
With nimble fingers, helping to prepare 
A royal welcome for their coming home, 
Who had spent months in old historic Rome, 
And helped to make a small, brave-hearted band 
That lately climbed the Alps of Switzerland. 

The Dares had been a year, or more, abroad ; — 
Had reached again their own dear native sod, 
And were expected home that very day, 
Which was the reason that sweet Ruby May, 
Knowing full well she had no time to waste, 
Was flitting in an out in eager haste. 
She brought the choicest hot-house plants, in 

bloom, 
To lend their fragrance to the drawing-room; 
And, Welcome Home, she wrought in ever- 
green 



THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 91 

To greet sweet Edith and her Allan Dean — 
For she had learned such was her lover's name ; 
And who she was, and from what place she 
came. 
The entrance gate was what she wished to 
grace. 
She tried to fix the motto in a place 
Above the arch; her ladder, bringing there. 
But, though she stood tip-toed, and stretched her 

fair, 
Slim fingers to the utmost, still she lacked 
A full hand's breadth of having it exact. 

A handsome man, whose face bore lines of 
care, 
With silver gleaming in his nut-brown hair, 
Sat on a jutting rock, some ways beneath, 
And watched the maiden while she hung the 
wreath. 
He heard her say : 

"It is too low ! O, dear ! 
I do so wish that Gerald could be here ! 
I am not tall enough." 

" Permit me, Miss," 
The stranger said ; "I will assist in this." 

And then, without a second glance at her, 
He took and hung on high the wreath of fir. 
To which she bowed a sweet : 

" I thank you, sir ! 
Dear Mrs. Dare has been a year away. 
She and her son are coming home to-day," 
She said in explanation. " I am Ruby May." 
What was his name, the man chose not to say. 
"How fondly you must love her, thus to 
make 
These pretty preparations for her sake ! " 
He said instead. 

" I do ! " the maiden cried. 



92 THE SIN OF EDITH BEAN. 

Her happy face aflush with loving pride. 

" Except for her, I when a babe had died. 
She rescued from a most tempestuous sea, 
Now fifteen years ago, not only me, 
But a poor crazy woman, too. She cared 
For both, and all her comforts with us shared. 

"Brave as a lion, gentle as a dove, 
Her life is one of pure, heroic love ! 
I never hear her voice, I do not feel 
That at her feet it is my place to kneel, 
As to the saints up at the altar's shrine." 

" And that sweet angel once was mine — all 
mine," 
He said with inward voice ; }'et spoke no word, 
And Ruby even wondered if he heard. 

In haste, and somewhat piqued, she turned 

away. 
His voice arrested her : 

" Not to delay 
Your preparations, Miss, I yet would ask 
If I can give assistance in your task ?" 

" I have no task, my stranger friend," said 
she, 
" Love's pleasant labor ne'er a task can be. 
But every one, who comes to 'Eagle's Nest,' 
Receives a greeting as an honored guest — 
'Twere worth a welcome, just to climb up here. 
You are a stranger, too — " 

" I am, my dear, 
A wandering tourist." 

" What may I call 
Your name? " 

" Just Ronald— that is all." 
" How very strange ! " She took a thoughtful 

mien. 
" When I was saved — a little castaway, 
I wore a handkerchief, marked ' Ronald Dean ' ; 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 93 

And we all thought that was my father's name, 

Until the crazy woman, dying' came 

Back to her mind and said his name was May.'* 

" Ah ! Edith's work of love was not alone 
For poor Lucinda ; since she thought 
This was the child that sin to us had brought — 
My child ! " gasped Ronald with a groan. 

" Your pardon," Ruby said, " I did not hear." 

" O, did I speak ? Well, it was nothing, 
dear. 
Command my services, I, too, will prove 
It is no task to aid in works of iove." 

They now had reached the vine-wreathed 
portico 
That shut away the ruddy, sunset glow, 
And Ruby answered : 

" Well, hang one wreath more, 
This one — Sweet Home, above the outer door. 
* * Now, that is all ! I trust they are not late. 
God bless them ! There they are — down at the 
gate ! " 

Away she went, fast as her feet could run- - 
Those pretty feet, so nimble, fleet and young, 
A glad, wild cry of welcome on her tongue ! 
And, just a moment later, had been pressed 
With loving pressure to each loving breast 
Then walked between the mother and her son, 
Back to the cottage. 

Ronald stood upon 
The porch where Ruby May had left him. She 
Had quite forgotten him in her wild joy, 
And she was startled when he said : 

" My boy, 
Thank God, for your return to home and me ! " 

So great was the surprise that Edith seemed 
About to faint. She never once had dreamed 
Of meeting Ronald at the " Eagle's Nest." 



94 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

He, forward springing, caught her to his breast, 
And in a tone of deep emotion, cried : 

" My pure, white angel, not far from your 
side 
Have strayed my feet, since it was yours to 

roam. 
O, let me help to give you welcome home — 
Your own true home, my darling, in my heart." 

But she released and drew herself apart 
From him, as in low tones, she firmly said : 

" It is because she wished it, who is dead, 
That you have come with loving words to me. 
But what you ask can never, never be ! 
If by your love and faith I could be blest 
Of all earth's happy ones, my lot were best ! 
But you care naught for me. You cannot give 
The love for which it would be bliss to live ! " 

" Not love you, dear," he cried. " Believe me 
true, 
My heart — my soul is filled with love of you ! 
Disguised, I made one of your little band, 
That climbed the icy heights of Switzerland — 
The poor old man you lent a helping hand. 
The same you met at Venice and at Rome, 
Is here to welcome you and Allan home. 
He cannot, will not, live without your love ! 

" Can naught I say. those firm-set features 
move? 
See ! Edith, love, I kneel to you. Forgive 
The wrong I did, and teach me how to live ! 
Companion to a soul, so purely white, 
I cannot wander very far from, right." 

Young Allan wiped the tear-drops from his 
eyes 
And hoarsely said : 

" Rise, father, rise ! 
My mother said that she was led to do 



THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 95 

Her noble acts through love she bore for you ; 
And still her soul's high altar you possess. 
Has she like place in yours ? In truthfulness 
I pray you make the answer. Be it yes ? 
My word for it, she will not say you nay." 

'• As surely as the light comes from above, 
She reigns within my heart, my soul's best 

love," 
He answered fervently. " Come, darling, come ! 
Of our few years on earth, we still have some 
That we may render beautiful and bright — 
O, be it mine to make their bloom and light ! " 

A moment later, Edith, sobbing, lay, 
Her fair head lighted by the latest ray 
Bequeathed to earth by the departing day, 
Within the reaching arms of Ronald Dean — 
A pretty foreground to that sunset scene. 



Two weddings — son and father, side by side. 
But who shall say which was the happier bride, 
The sweet young girl whose life had known no 

care, 
In conscious youth and beauty standing there, 
Pledging her vows with young love's hopeful 

pride •, 
Or she with dewy eyes and golden hair, 
Who in affliction's furnace had been tried, 
And by its searching fires been purified ! 

Edith had won the right to happiness ; 
And in God's own good time, it came to bless 
And bring her recompense. She found it in 
A full atonement for her selfish sin. 

This life has many roads (all end the same,) 
Some bright with glory, others dark with shame; 
But all have pitfalls to some deeper woe, 



96 THE SIN OF EDITH DEAN. 

Than glances at the surface-ground can show ; 
And he who standeth may not well condemn 
Those, who, less thoughtful, falleth into them. 

All ways are sometimes dark. He liveth best. 
Whose light does most to make his fellows blest, 

All paths are short. The end comes, and not 
late. 
Too precious is our time to cherish hate, 
Or waste the fleeting hours in selfishness, 
That might so many cheer, and guide, and bless. 

As all are sinners, by forgiving sin 
And lifting up the fallen, we may win 
The surest title to our happiness — 
Indeed it can be bought with nothing less. 

The text of Edith's life is in the line ; 
" To err is human ; to forgive, divine." 



THE END. 



